


Lost Fragments of the Past

by Nievelion



Category: Chrono Cross
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Dysphoria, Canon Bodyswap, Character Death Fix, Enemies, Everybody Lives, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Loss, Redemption, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 13:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nievelion/pseuds/Nievelion
Summary: Yet another world, another trip through the Sea of Zurvan. Can another lost soul be saved and freed? Can his fragmented memories be gathered and healed? What further changes in time and events will be wrought, if so? Will he get the chance to be a link in the golden chain, to open the door and live another day? AU, Lynx/Wazuki





	1. Chapter 1

Lifting his stone swallow from where he'd lowered it to his side while raising the other fist to summon Forever Zero, Serge stared fixedly at his opponent through the golden feline eyes that had once belonged to the enemy before him...the enemy who now resided in his own human body. Yet as if to further heighten the mind-bending nature of their adversarial relationship, Lynx had dressed the Arni youth's body in clothing of a similar cut and hue as the rich robes his former demi-human self still wore—more form-fitting, without the cumbersome skirts and a much shorter mantle, nor was the hat perched atop his blue hair the same long cap of the Porre nobility, but there were enough echoes in shape and colors to make the resemblance unmistakable.

He even still carried his sinister scythe...and the way Serge's own features had been twisted into something dark, cruel, and duskily demonic was the most unsettling of all. Although Serge himself was the one in Lynx's body, his former human self had been rendered enough of a mirror image that he felt his stomach doing flip-flops; it was as if the wicked man across from him was showing him how little difference there lay between them now, that nothing separated them any more, and the world would always see him the same way even if he did manage to change back...

Serge gritted his feline fangs, growling. No; he couldn't allow himself to think that way. His friends may have abandoned him after the body switch—he couldn't completely blame them, Lynx was a master manipulator and so he wouldn't have put it past the demi-human to _pretend_ there had been a switch so as to earn their trust, then get close and betray them, and the only witnesses to the event had been knocked out by an energy ball before the truth was revealed and hypnotized into obedience, respectively...but still, the abandonment hurt! Yet Pip had believed in him when no one else did, and he knew once the truth was out they would be filled with remorse and do all in their power to make it up to him.

Besides...it wouldn't be much longer before he was himself again.

As if his thoughts had made it happen, the boy facing him looked up with fury, hatred, and yes, pain twisting his features as he staggered back against the steps leading up to the pedestal where the white obelisk crystal shimmered and hummed. For a few moments more he struggled to stay upright, his body twitching and spasming from the gravitic energy of the Black Element skittering and rippling over and through his muscles, his expression one of utter betrayal. "You...you would _dare_ use my own powers against me...!"

Before Serge could make a biting comment about it only being karmic justice after turning his friends against him, or finish bringing his swallow fully to bear, the form he could only call Dark Serge staggered again, his scythe falling from suddenly nerveless fingers to land with a clatter on the cobbled stones of the chamber floor. Another spasm passed through his face. "I may have...underestimated you..." Something odd gleamed within his hellishly dark orbs, a shimmer of eerie green light rippling across them which Serge swore was the same hue as that produced by the Records of Fate...and then as his features went slack, he toppled slowly to his knees before finally falling forward, unconscious, on the steps.

Slowly...very slowly...Serge let out the breath he'd been holding and lowered his swallow completely, his body shivering with the aftershocks of fear and adrenaline loss despite the sweat which still soaked the grayish-brown fur beneath his robes. It was over. After the months of being hounded across El Nido, deceived, misled, tricked and beguiled, trapped in the hellish prison of this monstrous form, his name sullied and denigrated by this man's odious smear campaign, never able to return home, return to his old self and regain everyone's trust...the nightmare was finally over. He'd defeated his enemy and could now safely ascend the fort, use the Dragon Tear, and begin the long work of fixing all that had been done wrong using his face and identity.

Why, then, did it not feel over? Why did he, in fact, feel a strange sense of inner pain, of anguish, of imminent loss? It couldn't be that he would miss the magical powers and abilities he had learned in this form, as useful as they had been; he'd much rather have his own skills and techniques back. Nor could it be because he would miss this terrifying body he resided in, as useful as it had been in earning trust from other demi-humans or how it had automatically drawn the loyalty of people like Harle and Norris.

After all, even aside from the specific hatred and anger which Lynx's actions had earned from Kid, General Viper, and the Dragoon Devas, how could he ever forget the distrust and resentment on Glenn's face when the man he'd seen stab his commander and father-figure in the back had dared claim to be his friend and ally? Or the sheer terror and unquiet dread in Lady Riddel's eyes whenever she chanced to glance his way and met his gaze, before shuddering and averting it?

That look was in those wine-dark orbs now, in fact, when he turned at the sound of her dress rustling on the stones to peer into her down-turned face. "What a ghastly mess," she said softly, regretfully; unable to look long into Dark Serge's rictus of hate, she simply fixed her eyes on the floor before finally forcing herself to look up at Serge again. "I knew when you came to my rescue that you were not the beastly creature you seemed to be, the things you said to me were nothing like...what passed through Lynx's lips." She shuddered visibly, and suddenly Serge found he did not want to know what had transpired between them, in the days before he and Kid infiltrated the manor and she was forced to live under the same roof with the disturbingly seductive cat-man.

"I knew when I heard the reports from Sir Karsh, and then Sir Norris when Porre invaded, of a rebellion being led by Serge, one filled with countless harsh atrocities, that this could not be the same kind young man who, even though his ally took me hostage to escape his enemies, had only treated me with gentleness and concern. I knew your tale of having been robbed of your own body, as unbelievable as it seemed on the surface, had the ring of truth. But to see it in person...he looks so like you, and yet, not." She shook her head, her serpent headdress gleaming in the flickering torchlight.

That seemed to sum it up rather nicely. Nerving himself, he reached over and placed a heavy, clawed paw on her slender shoulder...waited for her to overcome her instinctive flinch and stand tall and proud once more, before he spoke. He was rather proud of how he had, with practice, managed to alter the sound of Lynx's voice—not to match his old one, that simply wasn't possible with its depth and the ever-present purr within it, but to lose the menace and silky, dangerous edge within it, replacing them with warmth, compassion, and a certain regal air he'd adopted from the leonine demi-humans in Marbule. "It's like my mother said, ma'am. Some people will judge you by appearances, but others will judge you by your actions and know who you truly are inside."

He was rewarded by a smile from Riddel, for the first time since she had met him as Lynx, one that began small but became increasingly radiant and warm.

"That may be true," came a stern but paternal voice from behind him, and then the stooped, white-clad form of Chief Radius hobbled forward on his cane. Stepping rather disdainfully over Dark Serge's collapsed body, he reached the pedestal where the white crystal thrummed, and after bending over to search among the Dragonian script for a few moments, he let out a satisfied exclamation and depressed a raised pattern in the stone. The obelisk flared brightly, then shimmered and vanished with a whining drone that faded away into silence.

"But it won't be much longer before your body will match your soul again, my boy." Now he glanced down at last at their adversary, contempt and disgust in the set of his mouth and bushy white eyebrows. "What do we do with this one, then? He has much to answer for, after all."

A cough came from the silo doorway, where only the sullen sooty glow of his cigar and the smoke it wafted upward marked his presence at all, and then the silhouette of the swarthy pirate captain, Fargo, pushed off from the wall and stepped into the light. "If ya ask me—and I'll notice ya weren't—I'd say we should do away with the bastard right this second, before he has a chance ta wake up and carry out any more deviltry." Knocking some of the ash free, he spat at the base of the steps, as if his opinion weren't clear enough already.

"No," Serge said, softly but forcefully. Everyone looked at him in surprise, though Radius and Fargo seemed the most frustrated and disbelieving. "No matter what he's done, I'm not going to be his executioner. If he's going to answer for his crimes at all, it should be under General Viper's justice."

Distinct approval radiated from Riddel, and even the Arni chief looked rather pleased, but the pirate stared at him in growing fury. "If? What do ya mean, 'if'? Don't tell me I have ta read off his list of crimes, do I? I may be a pirate, but even I've never done most of the wicked, heartless things he's done." Fingering the hilt of his sword, his mustache bristling, Fargo clamped his teeth fiercely on his cigar; from the way his boots twitched, he seemed extremely tempted to kick Dark Serge rather solidly in the side. "And what about what he's done ta you, matey? Ta yer friend Kid?"

"I didn't say he was getting away with any of it," Serge said, still quiet but more insistently. "You're right, he has to be held accountable, one way or another. But for one thing, we can't do anything to him until after I've used the Tear. I need his—my body safe until then."

Fargo scoffed. "Didn't that Shrine Maiden say the Tear doesn't work that way? That it could help restore ya even if we didn't have a body fer ya ta go back to? We didn't know he was gonna be here, me lad. Or that we'd win against him if he was."

"Maybe. But there's no reason to take that chance when we've got him right here." And somehow, for some reason he couldn't put his finger on, it felt _wrong_ to simply kill their enemy and use the Tear without him.

"But—"

"_No! _" It came out as a snarl, almost a roar, one that almost made him jump and cringe as much as it did Radius and Riddel. Forcing himself to calm down, to unclench his fists and retract his claws, he went on in a more mollified tone—but he didn't let an ounce of his determination bleed from it. "Look, I know why you think we should, Captain, but even if I didn't think we need him, I wouldn't do what you're suggesting. I'm not you, and more importantly, I'm not _him_."

He dropped his gaze to the unconscious boy whose expression was still utterly blank, his eyes still flickering and shining with that green light as if a machine were glitching behind them. "Killing him in battle would have been one thing. But when he's down, helpless, no threat to us...just because we can? That's what Lynx would do."

That finally seemed to silence the pirate; after shooting one last dirty look at Dark Serge, he shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth and then stalked back to the doorway, calling out to the others that the coast was clear for them to ascend farther into the deserted fortress. As he did so, and Riddel was unobtrusively applying her healing Elements to himself and Radius, Serge turned back and knelt down on the steps. Gathering the fallen boy into his arms and scooping him up to sling him rather unceremoniously over one shoulder—with the incredible strength in the demi-human's muscles, he could carry him as easily as if he weighed nothing at all and still have one hand free for fighting—he led the way toward the elevator that had descended when Radius deactivated the crystal.

As everyone gathered in the round chamber, waiting their turns to ride up so they would be on hand if their skills were needed in battle, Serge took his place first in the middle of the stone platform, avoiding looking at anyone's curious or stunned glances. What he didn't say, to Fargo or to any of the rest of them, was the other, compelling reason he had for not doing away with Lynx while they had the chance: that ever since being placed in this feline body, he'd had inexplicable flashes of memory, ones he knew had to have belonged to its former occupant rather than himself...and if they were true, if they meant what he thought they did, then he had to have answers, he had to know the truth—and he had to make whoever was truly responsible pay for what had been taken from him.

The whole way up through the fort—along the passages, ramps, and balconies which comprised the next level, hanging back and fighting one-handed against the monsters they encountered while letting his companions handle the brunt of the conflicts, and as they deactivated the black crystal to bring down the last barrier so they could approach the strange teleportation pad that would fling them to the vertigo-inducing platform floating high above the ancient Dragonian ruins—Serge could not stop thinking about what he had glimpsed in the recesses of his feline mind. Images, words, inexplicable bits of disconnected dialogue...and when put together with odd, unexplained statements Lynx had made, as well as curious omissions in Miguel's story as related at the Dead Sea...

Serge bit his lip and let out a low, keening yowl in the back of his throat. Miguel...by the Dragon Gods, how could he ever break the news to Leena, assuming she would speak to him again once he had his body back? Even if he understood why she had rejected him, part of him was tempted to blurt out her father's fate as payback...but the rest of him knew how cruel and unfair that would be. He didn't know if he ever would tell her, but if he did it would have to be much more circumspectly and gently... In any event, what Miguel had told him, as eye-opening, troubling, and deeply, morally upsetting as it was boggling to the mind, had in the end been most important in what it _didn't_ tell him. Namely, the fate of his father.

After Marge had related the tale of how both fishermen had sailed off with his poisoned body to seek medical aid, only for one to return and "never be the same", Serge had begun to question what he knew, what had been hidden from him. Somehow, in some way or another, the flashes of memory he'd experienced at the fort in Another World, at Viper Manor, on Opassa Beach when he crossed through the gate between dimensions had all seemed to tie the panther demon that nearly killed him with Lynx; the demi-human seemed to know all about it, at least.

But now he knew the panther attack was also connected to this journey to Marbule, a storm, and the vanishing of Wazuki and Miguel. The latter had turned up fourteen years later, trapped in a frozen future being obliterated from the timestream by choices made and not made. But what had happened to his father? Leena's father had noted that General Viper and the Dragoon Devas of Home World had "become salt for the Dead Sea" but he said not a word about the fate of his friend.

Then there were the comments Lynx had made atop the fort, just before that wrenching, horrific transference of souls had occurred courtesy of the Dragon Tear. First, that ten years ago, a part of him had died...at first, Serge had thought he'd meant the panther demon since the idea of it being a minion or creature of Lynx's, or even an earlier form of him, made a great deal of sense...a scary kind of sense. But since that event had happened much longer ago, and it was his drowning which had occurred ten years ago, that didn't seem to add up. And then there was what Lynx had said next: that denying him "would be erasing your very existence". How could that be? Was it mere villainous rhetoric designed to belittle, demean, and intimidate him? Or could he actually have been telling the truth?

If so, what could those words mean? There was only one interpretation he could think of that would explain them...that would also explain how "part of him had died", and Miguel's strange silence...that would explain why, ever since awaking in the Dimensional Vortex, Serge had been seeing things which made no sense in his mind's eye.

Himself caressing his own mother's cheek, leaning in to kiss her tenderly the way no son kissed his mother before departing on a fishing trip. Shouting hurried commands and desperate pleas alike into the roaring winds and pounding sheets of rain that fell upon him from cloud-churned skies over a tempestuous sea, that blasted him in the face until his words were lost amid the gales, nearly ripping the sails from the masthead and tossing Miguel's clinging form over the gunwale. Standing in the cold, quiet halls of some mysterious, uninhabited city, thanking Miguel for coming with him, standing by him, even as he swore he would not rest until he answered that strange voice calling to them from within the citadel, found the means by which he could save his son's life, no matter the cost...

All of this could only mean one thing, and if it was correct, it was something so painful, so infuriating, and so heartbreaking that he didn't know if he could face it...or what he would do about it.

There was no further time for thought on the matter, though, as the moment of truth had arrived, the moment to choose. With that familiar, sickening surge of energy, rather like how it felt to pass through the dimensional distortion at Opassa Beach, Serge found himself hurtling miles through the air only to phase through the floating platform high over Fort Dragonia, solidifying with a crunch of his weight upon the strange glowing stone. Getting his bearings and looking around warily, he discovered he still held his unconscious enemy—his own body—safely over his shoulder, while those who had chosen to accompany him were the snarky but endlessly loyal Van and the stately, impressive figure of the Shrine Maiden, Steena.

Her white-clad, statuesque body stood poised and still, its crimson-lined cape flaring in the rising wind that whistled high over the slopes of Mount Pyre, and both its high collar and her Dragonian headdress framed her beautiful but distant face as she gazed at him with solemn, unwavering dignity; save for when he had queried her about the Frozen Flame and when he had shown her the Tear of Hate, he had never once seen her calm aplomb disturbed or broken by anything they had encountered. He envied that self-control. "Serge...you must proceed alone from here."

He nodded slowly, once, conscious as he hadn't been since the initial body-switch of the weight of his heavy feline head. This announcement only made sense; an event of this magnitude and of such a personal nature would certainly be something private, and in any event the Dragon Tear was a magical artifact. Magic had its own rules.

Steena reached out and up to gently lay a hand on his upper arm. "You must see and confirm for yourself who you really are...truth shall manifest itself, once you believe in your heart." For the briefest of moments her eyes flickered to the body draped over his shoulder, and he had the feeling her words had more than one meaning, were of even deeper import than they seemed on the surface.

"That's right, mate," Van chirped. "You know I believe in you, I always have. You'll get through this. You'll survive whatever magic that thing throws at you, and get your own body back if you have to batter Lynx again until he mews like a kitten, or even roar at that silly old Tear to make it comply!" The poor artist's son from Termina smirked lopsidedly at him.

Serge couldn't hold back the chuckle at those words, or the rather amusing images they summoned up, and somehow the sound's rumbling, dark, feline nature didn't bother him as it once had, perhaps because he knew if all went well this would be the last time he'd hear it coming from his own mouth. "Thank you, my friend. That means a lot to me." He swung his gaze to include Steena. "It means a lot from both of you. I just hope your faith isn't misplaced." Squaring his shoulders and shifting Dark Serge's limp body to a better position, he nodded and turned back to the doors. "Here goes nothing..."

Just as in Another World, the towering panels of intricately carved stone swung open with barely a touch, as if they were so perfectly and delicately balanced it took no strength at all to move them—or was it more of the Dragonian magic of this strange place? His feline night-vision adjusted quickly to the relative gloom of the chamber beyond, but it wasn't strictly necessary...as before, each of the six draconic statues of elemental hue was shimmering, radiating constant beacons of multicolored light, and the floor itself similarly gave off a cold, blue glow from the indecipherable runes and other markings incised into it.

The whole place was so eerily familiar, so terrifyingly true to his memories, that he half-expected to see Lynx stepping out of the shadows on the far side...to see Kid's prone form sprawled nearby, surrounded by the crimson essence of her life as it welled out to add to the ever-spreading pool beneath and around her. But the place was quite silent once the doors had shut behind him, and he was utterly alone.

After a few agonizingly long moments of standing there with his eyes closed, forcing his breathing to slow and his heartbeat to calm, he looked around and considered his options. After discarding most of them, he crossed over to the nearest dragon statue, his boots echoing hollowly on the stone, then bent over and set Dark Serge down so he was sitting propped up in the carving's sooty crimson halo. It somehow seemed appropriate. Sighing, he got down on one knee; when waving his paw, then snapping his clawed fingers, did no good, he reached out and shook the boy...gently at first, then more forcefully. "Wake up. You have a lot to answer for, and I can't do this without you."

Whether the journey up had slowly been jostling him back into consciousness, or the combination of being shaken and that dark, sinister voice jump-started the process, his enemy seemed to shiver, jerked his head as if he'd just emerged from the cold, icy waters of Divine Dragon Falls, and the rippling green light in his eyes vanished. His mouth worked...he lifted a hand to his temple and groaned...and then as he saw who, or what, was in front of him, he jerked back with a yell and nearly knocked himself out again on the statue. "Get away from me! Wh-what are you, you monster?!"

Serge blinked; not only were these words the last he'd expected to hear from his enemy (right ahead of "I'm sorry for all the pain and misery I put you through"), but his voice sounded...different. Not the odd, high tone he'd adopted after his identity switch had been revealed, the cold and cruelly mocking voice that had taunted and sneered at him at Hermit's Hideaway and again in the silo down below, but...much closer to Serge's normal voice. It also sounded confused, and definitely frightened.

It had to be a trick. "You know very well who I am, Lynx! Don't think you can pretend, I won't be fooled by you and your silver tongue any more. Now tell me, how do I use the Dragon Tear? Is there some special ritual I have to perform, words I have to say, an Element to cast into it?" He fought the urge to shake the answers out of him, as well as the desire to growl fearsomely at him; he only succeeded at the former.

"What?" the boy whimpered. "I don't know anything about a Dragon Tear. And wh-who's Lynx? That isn't my name, I'm—" He broke off, staring off into space, and if anything his dazed eyes became even more terrified. "I don't know who I am! Or you, or anything! What's happened to me?!" He cringed back from the demi-human in front of him, holding up his hands to futilely ward him away.

Again he stared; could it be that the fight below, the usage of Forever Zero, one of the violent blows he'd received in combat, had truly damaged his mind, wiped his memories? If so, that was good news as far as any renewed hostilities were concerned, nor would Dark Serge be interfering in the soul transfer. But it also meant no help with the Tear would be forthcoming...and what if what he surmised about Lynx was true? Would this mean he would never remember...who he really was?

He shook himself, and this time he couldn't hold himself back as he lunged quickly and caught the boy by his robed shoulders, snarling anew. "Don't...don't lie to me! You're Lynx! You were an ambassador from Porre. You allied with General Viper, only to stab him in the back when you couldn't use him anymore. You're Kid's enemy...you hunted me all across El Nido...you took my body and left me stuck in yours, all so you could get your hands on the Frozen Flame. Admit it!" He shook the boy violently.

"No! No, I—" He nearly bit his tongue thanks to the convulsions, but managed to spit out more disjointed, vibrating words. "I don't...kn-know...w-w-w-what...you're talking about! Never h-heard...of any of that! P-p-pl-lease! You're hurting me, let me g-g-g-go!" He began to cry.

Serge stared in horror before finally managing to loosen his grip and jerk back, letting the boy fall back against the statue, weeping, shuddering, and hiccuping. He gazed down at his clawed paws and had to fight back his own surge of tears. What had he almost done? What was he becoming? It was as if they truly had changed places, fully and irrevocably, now. He, the monstrous, wicked, dangerous beast-man, and Serge, innocent, ignorant, and victimized. _No. No, I won't let that happen. I won't...be...him! Not this close to finally getting myself back. _

Forcing his temper to cool, he waited until the growls had left his throat and the sobbing from behind the boy's hands had quieted before he spoke again, softer and more gentle, unthreatening. "All right. I believe you. I...I don't know what happened to you, exactly, other than you seem to have amnesia. But...I think I can help you. If you can trust me." He knew after what he'd just done, after forgetting everything about who and what he was, finding himself here in this eerie place in the company of an even more disturbing cat-man, the human would have no reason to trust him, would likely reject him and cower in abject fear if he didn't try to run for safety (only to be caught by Steena and Van outside). But he had no choice, there was no other way to make things right.

And if those memories truly were gone, he had to hope that switching back would return them...or at least that his own memories would travel with him back to his original body. Or else... _Stop it. Don't borrow trouble when there's already so much available. _

The boy stared at him as if he'd turned into a Hydra. "I don't know who I am or why I'm here. I don't know how I ended up like this—it could very well be because of you. And you just tried to accuse me of doing all kinds of horrible things, while you were assaulting me. And you expect me to believe you, or trust you?" As he spoke, his voice was becoming more and more brash, confident, and determined; the boy had no weapons, no way of fighting back save for his fists and feet, so surely his words had to be mere bravado, and they did indeed quaver noticeably. But he sounded so much like the old Serge, standing up for himself even when he had nothing but his words and defiance to do it, that Serge in Lynx's body felt oddly heartened.

"I don't expect you to do anything," he said, still keeping his voice as smooth and soothing as he could manage—not the coercive, manipulative tone Lynx had once used, but one filled with encouragement, friendliness, and a confidence of his own. "I _hope _you will listen, and help me. And let me help you as well. I thought you were...someone else. I'm sorry. But...if you trust me this once, then I think I can find a way for you to remember who you are. For both of us to get the help we need."

Even though he cringed inside to do it, even though it was far too like the demi-human's deceitful, faux affability with which he'd twisted and persuaded the Arni boy to do his bidding and fall into his trap, Serge reached out a paw again, just as Lynx had upon the balcony of Viper Manor. "Please?"

For a very long time, the boy across from him stared at that massive, extended paw as if it were a serpent coiled and ready to strike, very much the way Serge himself had once looked at it. Again the sense of deja vu, of doubling, of history repeating itself—but perhaps this was necessary? Perhaps everything that happened before had to happen again, only backwards, for different reasons, with completely different emotions behind them, before the switch could be undone too? The Prophet of Time did say everything which happened in one world happened in or affected the other...

Then at last, just as he was certain he'd have to grab hold of the boy and forcibly carry him to the pedestal, something seemed to pass through his lithe frame, a shiver that was as much of resignation and despair as fear. He nodded, even as a look of uncertainty and distress twisted his features, one quite unsuited to the villain who had resided in him but absolutely fitting for how Serge had felt ever since his life was turned upside down and he somehow became the key to space, time, the cosmos, and all of existence.

"All...all right. I...really don't have a choice, do I? You won't let me go unless I do...and even if I could get out of...wherever we are, I have no one to go to, nowhere I could go to to fix what's wrong with me." Actually that wasn't true, but Serge wasn't about to tell him about Marge and Leena, or Arni, or any of it until he had his own body back. "Tell me what I have to do."

"That's the spirit!" Hoping he sounded as jovial and supportive as he intended, Serge took the boy's hand and, carefully but without hesitation, rose to his feet, levering the confused human up as well. Once he was certain the other had regained his balance and strength, he turned and gestured toward the center of the room, ushering him toward the pedestal. "I'm not certain, but based on what I've been told, I think all I have to do is place the Tear on this, and it should do the rest."

Hoping against hope there wasn't some secret mystic charm or other special way to make the magic work which the Shrine Maiden had neglected to mention, or worse didn't even know due to it being lost to legend, he reached into the folds of his robes, finding the pocket of his cloak where the jewel lay...and as his other hand maintained its hold on...his own human hand, as much to make sure the terrified amnesiac didn't change his mind and run away as to keep him close for what happened next, Serge reached out with his feline paw and carefully, deliberately, set the tear-shaped sphere with its flame-like outer shell into the niche that was clearly designed for it. A long, pregnant pause...and then with a shimmering, bell-like sound, the artifact began to pulse and blaze with an unearthly azure glow he knew all too well...

But just as he had braced himself for another siege of agony splitting his head in two, for the awful and nauseating sensation of clawed fingers scraping and grasping and seizing at his spirit until he went mad from it, there was—nothing. Only a small, almost friendly bluish-white ball of light that rose from the Tear to hover before him, illuminating the chamber more brightly than even the dragon statues.

As he blinked warily at this, the will-o'-the-wisp spiraled about in the air, then flew toward the wall of the room, leaving behind a glittering trail of stardust. It stopped right before the curving wall, just about at eye level, its light picking out something he hadn't noticed before—an ancient, faded mural had been painted on the stone surface, or perhaps it was a dusty, woven tapestry that hung there? He could just make out the first image, what looked like a vast body of water where strange, primordial sea life swum about in the depths...

And then a voice spoke—deep, harsh, strangely accented, pronounced as if the human language were not its native tongue. A whisper that susurrated from floor to ceiling and back again, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, as if the very stone itself had been brought to life...and in this place, he wouldn't be surprised if that were the literal truth.

"All life on this planet was born in the sea."

He dared to glance over at his human body, and to his startled relief saw that his former enemy, although still uncertain and deeply afraid, was looking around with the same consternation as he was, trying to find the source of the voice. _Good, he can hear it too...it's real, not all in my head_. Unless of course they'd both gone mad...

"The life-forms softly slumbered within the womb of our mother sea...until eventually they developed free will and were able to swim about the ocean freely."

Looking back to the mural hurriedly—Steena had mentioned something about a test of some sort, so he didn't want to miss a thing—Serge narrowed his golden eyes. The floating light had shifted, upward and to the right, now illuminating a different portion of the mural. What had once been simple organisms had changed, now looking much more recognizable to him—fish, crustaceans, algae and seaweed, even soft and sleek-furred mammals, all swimming about aimlessly, hunting, eating, or enjoying their peaceful, idyllic surroundings. He had no idea what this had to do with him or his quest, but in spite of himself he was utterly fascinated.

"Then there came those that, not satisfied with life in the water, looked up from the ocean floor towards the blue skies and dreamt of the feel of the land. Aeons passed before their preposterous dream became a reality, and they rose up from the seas onto the earth."

Again the ball of light shifted, continuing to rise along the wall even as it circled around the chamber, now illuminating images of animals emerging from the sea to walk on the dry shores, changing with each step into the various animal species he was familiar with. Serge already knew of the theory of evolution, Radius had been a good teacher, but this presentation seemed particularly compelling, since he had no idea where it was leading or why.

The disembodied voice became stentorian, stirring, filled with pride and glory. "The land became full of all kinds of creatures. Among these, the dragon lizards and the more evolved Reptites thought they would reign over the earth forever. And for a long while it seemed that they would..." The images now were of various dinosaur species roaming the world, with each progression becoming more civilized, walking upright, wearing clothing, building cities and weapons. These, he realized, must have been the ancestors of the Dragonians. In spite of himself, in spite of the frisson of fear such beasts engendered in him and the fact one of their relics was responsible for his current state, he found himself admiring them.

"However, the unforeseen coming of the mighty one from the heavens suddenly smashed their kingdom to pieces." The voice turned mournful, as well as underlain with a towering rage, and he couldn't blame it—the mural now showed, almost directly across from him, the great castles and towns of the Reptites being thrown into ruin, a catastrophe of fire and destruction raining down from on high that had to be the source for a lot of the legends and myths of divine wrath and lost civilizations he'd heard from all over El Nido.

He frowned, however...there was something familiar about that fiery object hurtling through the primitive skies. A vast, shell-like object with hundreds of spikes proliferating over its outer surface, like a demented and horrific porcupine...one whose image he recalled from a derelict computer screen made to operate for a tantalizingly short few minutes by Commander Norris...

At the same time he recalled its name, the voice identified the fiery stellar abomination with mingled revulsion and awe. "That one was known as 'Lavos!' The great crimson flame... Wielding absolute power, Lavos buried the dinosaurs—the kings of the land—in the space of a night."

Beside him, the human stirred at last. "I...I remember. This seems familiar..." He put a hand to his head, rubbing at his temple. "Lavos...something about the spawn of Lavos...entering the planet, devouring it..." He shuddered. "...until it was stopped by...the Chrono Trigger?" He frowned in puzzlement. "And something about...the Frozen Flame...?"

Serge stared at him in shock. _The Flame has a connection to Lavos?! That...would explain so much... _And make it even more imperative the thing be kept away from this goddess of Fate Miguel had mentioned...and anyone else...

Out of the corner of his eye he spied the light shifting farther around the circumference, now hovering along the right-hand side of the room, and his feline ears twitched and folded back as the voice spoke once more—this time sounding accusatory, injected with venomous hate, and he instinctively bristled, paws clenching, claws unsheathing, fangs gritted in a subsonic growl.

"However, the timid 'apes' who had lived hidden in the forests..." The wisp shone its silvery-blue rays onto an image of primitive men huddled around a campfire, dressed in animal skins and bearing crude wooden clubs and spears with stone heads, their brutish, unintelligent faces peering up in wonder and worship at the starry sky above them. "...came into contact with the crimson flame that fell from the sky, and evolved into 'humans.' Or perhaps it was not 'evolution' but 'transformation.' In this way humans increased in number and filled the earth..."

Serge's growl grew louder and more menacing. He had a sinking and infuriated suspicion which way this was heading. And he was right, for even as the light bathed the last panel of the mural on the far right, showing humans in their progress of building great cities and technology, cutting down forests, devastating wildlife and seas, hunting animals to extinction, the voice pronounced a final sentence like the crack of doom, as if casting judgment upon humanity. "The fearsome 'progeny of Lavos' who, like their progenitor, began to devour our mother planet."

_No!_ He could not even form the word, his voice turned once more into the inarticulate cries and roars he had made upon first being placed in Lynx's body. _It can't be true! I refuse to believe it! _It was just more of the same damned lies and vicious taunts as those of the dwarves of the marshes...he had tried to listen to them, tried to be sympathetic, for even though saving Kid's life mattered more to him than he could say, he knew that destroying an ecosystem, wiping out a species, forcing a race to lose its homeland, was wrong. But when they had in turn destroyed the poor fairies of Water Dragon Isle, had done so with the same sort of destructive machines and technology as the humans they lectured with such superiority, and then tried to justify it by claiming they learned it from the humans... Such hypocrisy had infuriated him into the same wordless rage as now.

As the Dragon Tear blazed brighter than ever, he drew himself up to his full height, the Black Element imbued in his body making his fur ripple, his cloak billow behind him, and the stones of the floor rattle beneath his boots. With every ounce of will in him, he threw back the Dragonians' unfair verdict in their absent faces.

_The Reptites and their 'great' civilization—they built, they killed and slaughtered, they ruled over this planet, and they did it with just as much tyranny and arrogance as they accuse humans of! If Lavos hadn't wiped them out, I bet they'd be no better today...maybe even worse. And even if we really were touched by that thing's flame, that doesn't doom us to be monsters. If demi-humans don't deserve the hate and prejudice they get, neither do we. We have a chance to save the planet, not destroy it. And if I get my body back, I will—no matter what Fate, the Dragon Gods, or anyone else says! We all deserve the chance to live and grow, to be what we wish...to choose, and do good. I won't stop fighting for that, ever!_

Something seemed to radiate an odd sense of approval through the chamber, the menace and violence and shadowy death that had been looming over him fading now into benevolence and sympathy. The light, which had remained hovering near the wall while blazing brighter and brighter, as if ready to explode in stellar fire to incinerate him, now dimmed back to a gentle twinkle...then floated unerringly back to the pedestal to sink into the Tear. The artifact glowed incandescently, quivering and vibrating as if it had been struck by a hammer—and then it cracked, splitting open with a familiar crunching sound, allowing...water to begin spurting out. First a trickle, then a stream, then a gushing geyser that poured off the altar. He stared in confusion.

Before it even struck the floor, the water was rising up again, twisting and curling in strange shapes until forming into a flowing carpet of bubbles. These quickly surrounded both himself and his human body, expanding and rising to form a gyrating sphere of liquid all around him, completely enclosing his robed form. A siege of pain stabbed him in the gut, making him double over—out of the corner of his eye he saw the same thing happening to Dark Serge—only to spread up into his chest. As his heart pounded frantically, another spasm wrenched through him, making him jerk the other way, back arched, muzzle pointing toward the ceiling but unable to make a sound even as the pain grew more and more intense, ripping and scraping and clawing unbearably inside him. He couldn't breathe. He could not—

Darkness swept over his vision, only to explode into light that gradually dimmed back to normal. Gasping for air, his eyes still dancing with spots and the last image he had of bubbles rising through the water before him...an image quite familiar to him from when he'd been sent into the Dimensional Vortex, an image he was certain now was a glimpse of his fate in Another World, the drowning that had taken his other self's life...Serge fell forward on his knees on the stone floor, coughing and spluttering. It took him several long minutes to get his breath back, his lungs in working order...several more to brush his soaked hair back out of his eyes...and several more to realize what had happened as his senses caught up with him.

Cold. He could feel the cold of the stones seeping into his hands, instead of being soaked up by the fur upon them...because they had bare flesh. Nails only, not claws, scraping and catching on a rune. He felt lighter, shorter, lither, no longer the bulky and massive figure he had been trapped in for what felt ages of traveling, of life. He actually had hair again, rather than the spiky crown of chestnut fur which had lain hidden beneath that Porrean hat, wonderful blue hair that hung dripping from his brow. And when he looked down before him at the puddles of water left from the Tear's magic, he could see his reflection once more. _His _reflection.

For a long time he only stared at that youthful face, one he'd been convinced he would never see again...grateful that the evil which had twisted it was now completely gone, leaving it innocent and wholesome once more, even as he memorized every feature anew. Even the fact he was inexplicably naked didn't faze him—he vaguely remembered, while within the sloshing waters of the bubble, shrinking within his robes, of becoming the size and mentality of a baby again before once more growing to his proper age. And he was quite happy to see that disturbing outfit, especially the skull-marked bandana, gone.

But at last he managed to lift his gaze, and after one last, secret smile to himself, rose to his feet. A few more moments of re-adjusting to his new (original) weight and frame, and then with a surge of stomach-churning worry but also a shard of hope, he turned to look over his shoulder—at the shattered remnants of the Tear on its pedestal, and then at the towering, furred form beyond it which was also rising to stand...

* * *

On the hovering platform which would teleport them all safely back down into the fort when their task here was concluded, Steena stood quiet and unmoving, arms crossed beneath her breasts as she gazed studiously toward the south. Past the rocky, fiery peaks of Mount Pyre, the verdant plant life and fungal stalks of the Hydra Marshes (which, worryingly enough, were already beginning to show signs of wilt and toxicity), and the empty shoreline, she could just see the rich foliage and gorgeous waterways of Water Dragon Isle hovering at the horizon. But much closer at hand she could easily identify the rushing cascade of Divine Dragon Falls, and she felt a shiver of anticipation run through her. _Could it be? So many things are the same in the other world, Serge says, and others are so different. What if the cavern there...? _

Shaking her head to cast off such thoughts—there was no use in idle speculation, and she did not want to get Serge's hopes up any more than her own—the Shrine Maiden turned away from the stunning vista and looked back with mingled aspersion and fondness at her companion. "Young Master Van...that will do you no good, you are well aware."

The boy in question was currently bent over at the waist, hands planted on the carved surface of the great doors, pressing and shoving with all his might, to the point that his shoes were skidding and scraping repeatedly on the stones while his face beneath the fringe of purple hair was shining with sweat. "What..._puff_...are you..._puff_...talking about? We just saw him go in...and they opened so easily! If I just...keep trying...find the secret..."

Steena chuckled as she approached. "Dragonian magic, young man. Of course it opened for him, and of course it will not do so for us. He is the one whom fate has chosen, we are but his boon companions, and what takes place within that sanctum is far too holy and unknowable for any others to witness it."

Finally giving up at forcing the doors open, Van clenched his fists, kicked up some dust at the portals for good measure, and glared at the offending architecture before stalking back to her side. "But what _is_ going on in there? I couldn't hear anything through those things! What's taking so long?"

"You expected a sacred ceremony from the distant past, one which can restore our friend to his rightful form, to take only a few minutes?" She couldn't keep the amusement from her voice.

"Well, no, but..." The Terminan painter sighed heavily, removing his glasses to wipe them clean of sweat and fogged breath, but when he put them back on and looked at her again, there was a concern and fear in them that made her heart go out to him. "What if he doesn't pass this test of yours? What if he's lost in the magic? Or what if that blasted villain has stopped being catatonic and—"

She was about to gently correct him that the test was not of her doing or devising, but one set in place many centuries ago—although she had no answer for his other, troubling questions—when the doors suddenly, with a soft grinding sound and a settling of dust and dirt, swung open of their own accord. Even as she thought to herself how fortunate it was Van had stopped trying to force his way in, so that he didn't now fall ignominiously on his face, Steena drew herself up proudly, waiting to see what would emerge from the other side yet somehow knowing already.

And she was right. Slowly but confidently, a slender, young figure appeared out of the darkened room...human, blue of hair and eyes (though the latter were so dark as to be nearly purple), toned and muscular without being massive in build. She could see this because his clothing had vanished—she hadn't expected such a result from the Tear, but if the old writings which spoke of a "rebirth" had been literal, it made sense—and she made certain to keep her eyes fixed on his face so as not embarrass the poor lad any more than he must already be—his cheeks were quite red! And after all, she might be only seven years older than he, but her position required the utmost dignity and propriety.

Meeting Serge's eyes, which were steady, kind, yet filled with such strength of purpose and depth of character she was startled—but what else could she expect of one who had been through as much as he had, who had now been through the Tear's trials twice and thus surely gained much wisdom from it?—she smiled. "Serge...you have regained your identity without being led astray. Your eyes, which foresaw the truth, shall help you to regain your trust among your comrades..."

From her side, Van snorted. "Oh yeah, _them_. The ones who couldn't even see past the surface, see what was in your eyes, and wouldn't stand by you when you needed them most. Some friends." He shoved his hands fiercely in his pockets. "Remind me to kick them hard when we see them. Especially that Glenn, right in the—"

With a stern glare, Serge stepped close to the boy and smacked him, lightly, in the back of his head. The blow wasn't hard, but it did make his tri-cornered hat fall forward over his brow, covering his eyes.

After a few moments of spluttering and fixing his hat and glasses, during which she and Serge shared a private smile, Van glowered and stuck his tongue out in the general direction of Termina. "Oh, _fine_, if you're going to be that way about it! But I hope every one of them feels awful when they find out you were telling the truth. I bet they'll be sorry now that they weren't here for you! Not like me..." He lifted his chin. "I was all set to come in there, Serge. I was going to break those doors down with my piggy bank and everything." He took a few tentative steps closer, kicking his foot back and forth above the stone, and then he rushed into Serge's arms to embrace him.

Serge smiled down at him softly, patting his shoulder. "I know you were. Thank you, Van."

For a few more moments the painter squeezed him close, sniffling inaudibly. Then at last he pulled away and looked up, with a rather puzzled and diffident look on his face. "But...why in the devil's name are you _naked_?"

The teenager threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing loudly around the platform before being lost in the wind. He shook his head and shrugged. "Beats me, Van. But I'm sure we can find some clothes for me with our things. Or maybe on Lynx's ship..." He went quiet, distress and dread warring on his countenance, before finally seeming to rouse himself and holding out his hand to Steena—the one he'd had clenched at his side the whole time.

When his fingers opened to reveal the piece of blue gem in his palm, she let out a sigh of relief, then gazed up at him. At his look of apology, she smiled warmly. "Do not be troubled, Serge. This is as it was meant to be. There is nothing we can do about the Dragon Tear...its shattering result does not come as a surprise. However, you also carry the fate of the Dragon Tear from another world. The broken pieces of love and hate: although contradictory, they are two sides of the same coin..."

His expression, which had relaxed as soon as he'd found out he wasn't in grave trouble for what had happened to the relic he'd been entrusted with, became wary and unhappy once again. "Love and hate..._he_ said the same thing, just before he..."

Steena gazed at him sympathetically. "His reasons for doing so were surely dark and sadistic, but he was more right than he knew. You see, a mysterious force may come to light when these two pieces are united... Perhaps this force will be the legendary Chrono Cross..." At his confused look, she sighed and turned away; even if she knew the full extent of its powers and what use it had been destined for, it would do no good unless her earlier hope was true. "The only problem is, the shrine which is said to give life to the Chrono Cross is nothing but a cavern inside Divine Dragon Falls."

The Arni youth frowned even more thoroughly, even as his shoulders began to slump. She placed her hand on one, lifting his chin with the other. "But...with what you have told me of this strange split in the timestream, of another world, that need not be the end of our quest. Serge...you may hold the key to bringing forth its powers. And if you do, there is no telling what it will enable you to do to save our worlds."

She began to turn away, to lead him back to the teleportation pad, when a thought occurred to her and she looked back. "Or perhaps more than that. Did you—what happened to...?" She peered past his shoulder, into the shadows of the ritual chamber.

After a few moments of shaking his head, eyes bright as he seemed to gain an inkling of what she was hinting at, Serge looked up—and for some odd reason smiled. "Everything's all right, there's no need to worry. Although...it seems I'm not the only one who needs a new set of clothes..." He gestured back behind him, holding out his hand to someone unseen.

The Shrine Maiden caught her breath; at her side, despite Serge's caution that there was nothing to fear, Van instinctively reached for the boomerang at his belt, and she had to admit her fingers itched to be around the hilt of her sword. For a tall, broad-shouldered figure was slowly, tentatively, stepping into the light...like Serge, naked as the day he was born, though he seemed even more embarrassed by this fact than the teenager had been, judging by where he had his paws clasped. But as his clawed feet came to a stop on the threshold and the mountain winds whipped through his grayish-brown fur, Steena found herself losing any fear or desire to fight...for the look in those golden eyes was one she had never expected to see...


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't know who he was. At the same time, he was afraid to, because while he had no memory of any of the things, places, events, or people that rather frightening cat-man had mentioned to him, he had the feeling the fellow knew exactly what he was talking about, and if so, then everything he'd said had been true. And if _that_ was true, then...what kind of person had this Lynx been, to do those things? Surely nothing could justify them...in which case, did he want to know who he was? Did he deserve to have his memories back? Or should something else...much more permanent...be done with him?

Even as all of this was running through his tired, overtaxed mind, the boy who didn't know his name couldn't help doing as the black-clad feline directed. And after following him to that weird altar, watching the unusual but beautiful jewel glowing upon it, and listening to that tale of evolution which so seemed to horrify his companion—and he had to admit, even with remembering nothing, the story the voice related was rather upsetting—he found himself staring into the gem's depths. Where the beast-man with him was focused on denying what he'd been told, making some sort of silent but intense demand of this foreboding place, the boy could only wonder if he, too, could gain something from this. His memories. The truth. Things hidden from him, things lost, and things which could change his life.

Then had come the sphere of water forming from those inexplicable bubbles, and he'd barely had time to see what was happening to the cloaked figure beside him before he, too, was spasming, bending over, choking, desperate to breathe, to escape the pain, to live. But when the darkness at last enclosed him and he fell once more into unconsciousness, what he beheld was...quite different.

_Two men. A young boy. The sounds of voices, some raised in mumbled conversations, others the voices of the young as they called out, excited and shrill with the thrill of playtime, into the humid, tropical air. Coral and other seashore life, plants and rocks and seaweed, pink and blue and brownish-gold, all of it twisted and woven in weird patterns and formations, interspersed with towering palms. Pristine white sand, stretching as far as the eye could see, a shimmering flat expanse unmarred save for small ripples formed by the wind. And the sea, always the endless, soothing, ancient sound of the sea as its waves washed back and forth, up and down along the beach, the achingly beautiful blue waters shifting and rushing in repetitive combers, moving in and out as they had for so many centuries and, Fate willing, would continue to do so for eons hence._

_Part of him knew this place, loved it, yearned for it with every fiber of his being as waves of homesickness washed over him. But the rest only stared unblinkingly at the scene...golden eyes burning every detail into their retinas...as a low, sinister growl began to throb and rumble in the back of his throat. He was hungry...and more than this, as he felt the dark powers stirring within his heart along with his predatory instincts, he knew there was only one way to satisfy this craving...one prey that would fulfill him. One had sent him...yes, _ ** _she_ ** _...but now that he had beheld his target, he wanted it insatiably, needed it, lusted for it, and would not rest until it was his._

_Slowly...oh so slowly, with careful and perfectly methodical patience, he crept through the underbrush, the sand and soil barely shifting beneath his massive paws. Closer...closer...until he stood just within the vast, overlapping layers of leaves which masked the underbrush, hidden by the shadows which so matched his gleaming pelt of ebony. He narrowed his eyes...watching, waiting for the moment to strike. It came with such suddenness and ease, it was almost as if the humans wanted it to happen too, had just been waiting for his arrival so they could set events in motion to their fatal denouement. The two men had turned away, both with their backs to their young charge as they stared out over the waters, talking to one another and occasionally pointing out to something at sea. The boy...so young, so choice, such a fresh and juicy morsel, played idly in the sand, building some sort of structure between his legs. None of them noticed him. None of them knew._

_All went silent. The birds and other nearby animals, sensing his presence, feeling his unnatural evil on top of his fierce and deadly nature and knowing what was to come, fled or otherwise went still. Even the wind died, leaving only the crashing waves. Suddenly, as if by some sixth sense, the boy looked up, shoulders and back stiff...and then he turned warily, staring with trepidation into the bushes. _

_It was then that he struck. Nothing, not even the boy if he managed to cry out a warning, could prevent what was coming. And he rather enjoyed knowing that his prey would know he was coming, yet be unable to do anything about it. With a few slow, ominous strides he stepped out of hiding, a dark blot beneath the sun, a muscled beast aiming straight and true toward the petrified boy. Another timeless pause, one which seemed to mark this occasion as one of note, something predestined, something that would change the course of history..._

_And then he was running. Slowly at first, a lope that picked up speed into a wild, furious surge of adrenaline and passion for blood, his paws striking the ground and sending up sprays of sand. He could see the boy finally moving, but far too late, so slow compared to his feline speed that he seemed to be stuck in tar, could hear a scream begin, echoed by others from farther down the beach, but by then he had reached him. He bared his fangs...he tossed his head...with claws unsheathed and splayed, he sprang and leaped, slamming down atop the blue-haired child and lunging straight for his face, his neck...those long, ivory fangs the last things those horrified eyes would ever see...oh how sweet his blood would taste..._

_Flicker._

_Smoke, acrid and pungent, filling his sensitive nostrils as it rose from the old, dry wood of the house behind him, the homestead and orphanage which, even as he stood taking it in, savoring the diabolical act he'd just committed, was being consumed by an ever-increasing inferno. He smirked mirthlessly as he gazed out the open window before him into a Stygian night lit only by the ruddy glow from over his shoulder, regarding the crumpled form of the woman he'd tossed there only a few moments ago, purple hair flung forward to completely shade and mask her face buried in the grass. At his side came a faint motion, a shifting of cloth, and even through the witch-like cackling of the fire he could hear the silvery sound of bells tinkling upon the harlequin's hat. He turned._

_There in the doorway stood one of the orphans who had made this wretched hovel their home. Where the others were, he neither knew nor cared, though to judge from the sounds of shrieks and screams echoing in despair from other parts of the building, it was likely at least some of them were trapped by the falling debris and would soon lose their lives in the blaze. He dearly hoped so. This one was rather small, thin, and wiry, with blonde hair hanging ragged and streaked by ash and sweat, her cheeks covered with soot like her poor, hand-me-down clothing but also reddened—as much by rage as by the fire's heat—her huge blue eyes glaring with molten hatred even as they squinted against the smoke, tears pouring down her face. _

_Although he had never seen her before in his life, there was something oddly familiar about those eyes, the shape of her face, something which had his link to Fate buzzing as it attempted to scour through the computer's databanks and locate a match...something Balthasar had included, something about the Kingdom of Zeal...but how could that be...?_

_The girl moved, drawing his attention back to the present just as he accessed the proper file and recognized her—though of course he remained still and poised, not revealing how he'd almost been taken by surprise, only presenting an expression of cold contempt and sardonic amusement. Not that he hadn't marked the dagger clutched in her tiny hand, or how her eyes darted to the floor where a pair of broken spectacles lay, before glaring at him with a heat that seemed ten times that of the conflagration around them. "You...how could you?! You killed Sis...I loved her...she was all I had..." A keening cry from her throat turned into an inarticulate snarl of rage. "I'll make you pay for this! You'll die too—right here, right now!"_

_She had nerve, he gave her that. If he hadn't already been given orders to leave her alive—orders which derived from future foreknowledge gleaned through time travel, directions from Chronopolis's director indicating this girl would somehow be key to Fate's plans and his own—he might have done so just for this display of bravery and belligerence. Softly, but with a faint growl he knew struck fear into the hearts of any who heard it, he spoke to his companion, though he never took his cold eyes from the girl. He didn't bother to correct her assumption; if everyone believed his prisoner dead, no one would come for her...and his reputation would become that much more fearsome. It was so much easier to manipulate others when they did the work for you. _

_"Harle...if you would do the honors? We have what we came here for, and have tarried long enough, I think. We should leave this little one in peace, don't you agree?" He turned up the corner of his mouth in a wicked smirk, his tone dripping with false sympathy. "Otherwise, how else will she make it out before the roof collapses, dooming her to die like the rest of her friends? We wouldn't want that..."_

_"Oui, Monsieur Lynx." Something in her tone, as off-hand and brightly cheerful as it was, caught his attention, and he glanced at her again. Her makeup hid most of her features, and the contrast between the painted tears and her little smile was faintly unnerving...but for a moment he thought he caught the gleam of real tears standing in the corners of her eyes. Then the moment passed, and with her usual gesture Harle called upon the powers of the moons, enfolding them in a sphere of shadows which turned their bodies ethereal, phasing them through the wall of the room and out into the night as it shrank away to nothing._

_He could just hear the girl's strangled cry echoing behind them as she lunged, just a second too late, at where they'd been standing. He smiled fiendishly. Crossing over to Lucca's fallen body, he picked her up as easily as if she were a sack of potatoes, slinging her over his shoulder with only a slight grunt of effort. "Well done. Now let us be off to the Sea of Eden. We are one step closer to unlocking the Flame and regaining ultimate power. I can taste it...can't you?"_

_The jester girl eyed him askance, one eyebrow raised, but then nodded. "Mais bien sûr, mon chat-ami. What elze could I be wanting, hmm?" _

_Something in her words again bothered him, struck him as unsettlingly suggestive even, the perfect match to a brief glitter in her eyes. He brushed it aside; whatever her agenda (and he knew she had one, everyone did), she had pledged her loyalty and proven it time and again, whether in acquiring Mystic allies from Medina to...persuade Porre he had the resources and abilities to deliver what he had promised its council or calling in favors to gain the assistance of the demi-humans in El Nido well in advance of their arrival. If her plans threatened his, he would eliminate her instantly and they both knew it; until then, she was an amusing distraction and would be quite useful, as all pawns of Fate were... _

_He gave a peremptory gesture. Again Harle summoned her shadow-travel magic, and this time all three of them faded from view..._

_Flicker._

_"Commander Norris." His voice sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the room, on an upper floor of the mansion which had once been the mayoral residence but which now held the offices of the military commanders and council of Porre. Nevertheless his words were actually quite soft, even sibilant. And yet they still carried over his shoulder despite the fact he stood at the window, paws clasped behind his back, gazing out dispassionately at the city below. "You know what I have offered the generals, the president, and the rest of your little junta. But you also know I offer you something different...because _ ** _you _ ** _are different."_

_A long silence, one he knew stemmed from the fact the soldier was afraid to speak, to voice aloud the sentiments which had so often gotten him in trouble with his superiors, views which were not in favor in Porre seeing as they seemed far too weak-willed and overly emotional, not at all in compliance with the city leaders' desires to expand, to control, to conquer an empire. Then at last the man cleared his throat. "Uh...yes, Sir Lynx. Yes, I'm afraid I am...but I'm also quite glad to be."_

_Norris respected power, when properly wielded, a denadorite fist in a velvet glove, and so it had been easy to earn his trust, and that title, merely by his impressive size and build, his sheer presence, the magnetic charisma he possessed. Lynx smiled to himself. "Yes. You are an idealist. I am not—or perhaps it would be truer to say my ideals are...unlike your own—but there is nothing wrong with such a thing. The rest of the council consists only of power-mad, dangerous men. Small men with petty thoughts, overinflated egos, and minds consumed with a need for war and bloodshed. They want to see El Nido topple, the deaths of General Viper and his dragoons, so that they may sweep in with their engines of destruction. But you want something else."_

_"Y-yes. Yes, I do."_

_Again the demi-human smiled. It was so much easier when they admitted their deepest desires. "You wish that Porre had never become a military power. That it had not conquered Guardia, a kingdom of goodness, nobility, and peace which you deeply admired. That it had not developed plans to rule the entire world, in fact. And that it had stayed the generous, good-hearted town it was before that mysterious stranger with ancient but advanced technology swept in and took over, transforming it virtually overnight."_

_Letting out a choked gasp, Norris took an instinctive, stumbling step toward him, and he wasn't surprised when at last he glanced back to see the man's blue eyes bulging widely. "Wh-what? H-how did you know about that?! Only the highest command structure knows of Dalton! And I never told anyone of my..."_

_Lynx finally swiveled about to face him, slowly but surely striding closer, his boots making a measured tread on the expensively carpeted floor. The blond human could not hide the fear in his eyes as the dark feline approached, which only made the demi-human smile all the more. "I know everything, Norris. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Shadows I can send about with but a thought, shadows which serve me but are also a part of me. And let us also say I am a student of history. Would it surprise you to know that this Dalton seemed to have weapons and knowledge and tactics from another time, because he truly was? Oh yes...the fabled Kingdom of Zeal. _

_"He was one of its highest military leaders, if rather pathetic by the standards of his time, and when it fell, consumed by its own hubris and uncontrolled magic, he managed to flee through time itself, and found himself here, in your nation. Ever the opportunist, he used his technology and planning to win admiration and terrify into submission, and then once he had a new army at his command, he aimed it at the home of those who had helped bring about Zeal's downfall."_

_He bored his glowing golden eyes into Norris's, smiling in triumph as he saw the shock and disbelief on the man's face turn into acceptance, understanding, realization of the implications. "But all of that hinges upon him making good his escape through the time portal. What if this could be prevented? Time has already been altered, in more ways and more significantly than you can ever know. And there is something that has the power to eliminate Dalton from the timestream, to change Porre for the better, bring back Guardia in all its glory, make a better world. The Frozen Flame." _

_The leader of Black Wind inhaled sharply. "Truly?"_

_"Of course," he lied. Or rather, told only half the truth; the Flame, being a piece of Lavos, could indeed enable time travel when coordinated with the computers of Chronopolis, could bring about all the changes he had outlined, but he wasn't about to let anyone other than himself use it, certainly not for such a purpose. _

_"So now you see why my mission is so imperative. You must help me, Commander Norris. Your superiors intend to invade full force, and soon; barring that, they believe the only way I can help them, if I even can, is to lead their armies in a holocaust of death. Speak to them. Convince them to wait. Tell them to send me in ahead as an ambassador to distract and delay the Acacians, to bring them down from within, to string Viper along with earnest pleas for peace until it is too late for them to stop the invasion. That will give me time to find the Flame."_

_Norris swallowed hard, hesitating, but he could already see in the other's eyes that he was lost, that his need for this was outweighing his common sense, letting him fall beneath the sway of Lynx's compelling voice. "Yes. Of course. I have to help you. I have to change the world. I have to know the truth, know everything."_

_The demi-human bared his fangs in a gleaming, feral grin. "You will. I promise you that. You will..."_

_Flicker._

_"General Viper." Lynx clasped his paws before him as if in prayer as he leaned forward on the polished mahogany table, peering intently into the leader of El Nido's intelligent, suspicious eyes. The two of them were in the secret room which could be entered only by way of the general's office, a room reserved for just such clandestine meetings as this, with thick walls of stone hidden behind the wood paneling, soundproofed as well by a few judicious yellow Element crystals—Viper was a yellow innate, and his great skill with the Element of Earth had allowed him to discover ways to distort, reflect, and block sound waves which tried to pass through or around the glowing stones. No one could hear what was said, which pleased the demi-human greatly...for no one must know just what the terms of this deal would be, or how it would be procured..._

_"You know, of course, that while I speak for Porre, I am but a lowly ambassador." He kept his voice conciliatory, regretful. "I may carry your terms, and those of my nation. I may suggest, offer, propose various means by which our two peoples can reach some manner of agreement which pleases all parties. But I cannot make anyone do anything against their will." _

_Inwardly he had to laugh at the delicious double meaning in that statement which of course Viper had no inkling of—indeed, his magic could not compel obedience or enforce an action completely against one's nature...but he could influence, persuade, apply the power of suggestion to bring out inner demons, dark desires which would otherwise never see the light of day. No, he could not make anyone do anything against their will...but it was often surprising, and delightful, to discover just what someone _ ** _did _ ** _want to do, secretly, and then convince them to act on it..._

_"However much we both wish otherwise, I don't think I can prevent the coming war. The only thing that can keep Porre out of El Nido is the power of the Frozen Flame." He curled one paw into a fist, as if already gripping the legendary jewel which could indeed do as he said...at a price. "Let me help you, General. Let me help you save your people. Do as I ask, follow my directions, and we will uncover the Flame's location for certain. Then I shall rule Porre, and ensure it stays out of the affairs of you and yours, while you will be the savior of El Nido. Isn't that what you want, after all the years of fighting and death, the loss of so many friends and families?" _

_He saw when the despair which haunted those deep, dark red eyes beneath beetling brows, and the desperate yearning for peace and security, was joined by a burning fire—for revenge, for conquest, for power. Benevolent Viper might be, but he was still a dictator. And once that qualifier was removed...which could be accomplished so readily when one had good intentions, ones which seemed so noble and right that anything could be justified to achieve them...yes, it was so easy to tell others what they wanted to hear, to lead them ever so slowly to ever greater extremes, to their own damnation while they fooled themselves otherwise..._

_"Of course, Sir Lynx," the Acacian replied at last, nodding firmly, his expression grim and determined. "You're right. I tried to be accommodating, to sue for peace, but there truly is no other way. Force is all those bastards back in Porre understand, so it's force I'll give them. Magical force, so that my people will be safe and need never again take up arms or place themselves in danger at all." Rising from his seat, he reached across the table to shake the demi-human's paw. "Tell me what you need me to do."_

_Lynx clasped the man's hand tightly, rumbling in satisfaction, the power within him already radiating outward from this room...beginning its slow, insinuating process of tainting this place and poisoning every mind within it. The suspicion and distrust in Viper's mind would become paranoia, manifesting itself in monstrous doors with watchful eyes in every portal, alarm systems, spotlights, more and more layers of cunning traps and security patrols. The dragoons' belligerence would be enflamed into xenophobia, their conviction that any who tried to stand in their way or interfere in General Viper's plans, especially those from Porre, were monsters would take shape as true hideous beasts stalking the manor's halls. Tempers would flare, old grudges and jealousies nursed to new heights, a cloud of darkness that would rot souls from within just as it would the building's structure. _

_He smiled. "There are a few excursions which must be launched, items obtained. But before that, my companion and I must stay here in Viper Manor for a while, and be given full access to the facilities...and then there is someone I wish Sir Karsh to seek out..."_

_Flicker._

_With a gesture of one paw, he tripped the lock of the serpent-marked door barring his path; he had better fine-tuned control over his Black Element than any mortal being alive, so that forcing the tumblers to retract and the latch to click was mere child's play. No normal barrier could stand against him. If only Balthasar's accursed technology weren't resistant to magic in every shape and form! And if the Flame weren't itself of an opposing and extremely chaotic magic..._

_The door swung open silently and he stepped into the room beyond—a woman's boudoir, as frilly and daintily decorated as to be expected, but also possessed of a certain shadowy secretiveness that played well into his hands. Women held their secrets well, better than most men in fact, but when those secrets were found, exposed, exploited... He chuckled at the irony; Fate itself had no true gender, yet had always been programmed to look and even think of itself as female, and it was the source of such knowledge via the Records and what they had gathered through the centuries, coming to understand humanity. It took one to know one, and after all, Fate "herself" possessed the greatest secrets of all..._

_Jerking her head up from the slender volume she'd been reading as the door closed and locked behind him, Lady Riddel nearly leaped out of her chair. "What?! What are you—how did you get—" She seemed to gather her dignity and articulation, squaring her shoulders and standing imperiously. "This is my chamber, Sir Lynx. My father has given you the run of the manor, but that does _ ** _not _ ** _include my personal rooms. You have no business here, there is nothing I can do for you, and there most certainly is nothing I wish from you. So please, leave now before my father hears about this."_

_It was a very pretty speech, but he only smiled and ignored it utterly, stepping with a slow and predatory pace toward her, robes rustling softly. "Fear is slowing you down, my lady. I knew if you feared much more, I would catch you at last." Since he first set foot in Viper Manor, she had managed to avoid him—sitting as far away from her father at the dinner table as protocol allowed, so as not to be near where he sat at Viper's right hand; wandering the grounds with various dragoons and especially the insecure and pathetically dutiful Glenn, who followed her around like a puppy desperate to please its master; taking long and frequent excursions into Termina to visit the marketplace, Zappa's smithy, or the shrines. But as time passed, as he pursued her inexorably through the mansion's halls and even cornered her while bathing in the balcony pool, he grew closer and closer to her side, to claiming her. And now she was his._

_To her credit, Riddel did not break, did not falter, even though he could see in the quivering of her limbs and the fluttering of her throat that she was indeed quite terrified of him. She only stared at him stonily, with icy calm, before speaking again. "And for what purpose, then, would you catch me, my lord?" The last words seemed especially forced. "You do not strike me as one interested in feminine pursuits, in fact we are opposites in every way imaginable." _

_She glanced down pointedly at the white stones she wore set into the bracelets at her wrists, brilliant and gleaming to contrast the depthless void of the black gems which adorned his gauntlets. "And if you wish to know more of how a woman's mind works, I suggest you speak to that harlequin of yours. She seems to have the arts mastered better than anyone I know."_

_In spite of himself, Lynx laughed in genuine, even rueful, amusement; she truly had no idea of the layers and intricacies to Harle's enigmatic self. The moment passed, however, as he finally reached her side to loom over her, his shadow seeming to grow monstrous so as to surround and engulf her; and it wasn't even a magical effect, yet, merely psychological. Riddel clearly wished to step back a pace, but she held her ground admirably, fists clenched at her sides. "Alas, no. There is something else which I require, and it is something only you can provide." _

_Despite the fact he had said this quite casually, without even a leer, the Lady of Viper Manor reacted as if she'd been manhandled. "What _ ** _exactly _ ** _are you implying...?"_

_He chuckled darkly. "Oh, nothing as banal as that. I could of course have you carnally any time I wished, given time." He said it as if ordering dinner from a menu, and was rewarded by a shocked gasp and blazing color rising in her cheeks. "But the appetites of the flesh are so transitory. They have no true meaning, in the end. They are merely nature's way of controlling us, driving us ever onward to ensure there will be a next generation. Survival, preserving one's lineage, propagating to cover the planet. That is what life was made for, what nature compels from us...although in the case of humans, I do believe she went a little too far. You've rather become like a disease now, haven't you noticed?"_

_Riddel's glare somehow became even more frigid, and for a moment he was certain she was about to summon an Ice Blast from beneath his feet. "Truly your charm and civility quite take my breath away. I have never believed demi-humans to be animals, monsters...so is this how they treat women in Porre, then? If all you have come to do is regale me with insults, I may just let my rod finish this conversation for me."_

_He hid a smile behind one paw as he bowed his head in acknowledgment of that well-turned rebuff; it was her stubbornness and strength of spirit that so drew him to her—that required he break her if his schemes were to come to fruition. The general, the Devas, Glenn, they could all be twisted, manipulated, used like the puppets they were. But if Riddel remained free, uninhibited, and so willfully, unerringly determined, an heir to Viper's power and legacy but with more inner fortitude and bravery than any number of warriors, his plans would fail._

_"Not at all; you were the one to turn our dialogue in such an unseemly direction." As she opened her mouth to protest, he cut across her. "I came to learn your thoughts regarding my alliance with your father. And what you intend to do about it."_

_For a long moment she stared at him, apparently taken aback by his sudden switch from coy and circuitous insinuations to something so bold and direct. Then she closed her mouth, raised her chin, and said, "Do? I cannot do anything, unless I choose to draw upon my extensive collection of Elements to challenge you in a duel of magic. Which would be neither ladylike nor respectful of your position. I do not wish to start an international incident...and unlike some, I have standards." Turning to gaze at the gilded cage where several birds twittered and shifted about fearfully, clearly made uneasy by the giant cat in their midst, she added, "As to my thoughts, Daddy's decisions and rulings are his own. But in this case I do not support them, and never will."_

_"And why is that?" Lynx said softly. "Surely you do not wish to see El Nido fall to Porre. Or is it the Flame you fear? You are right to do so, but a healthy respect and caution do not preclude us from grasping what is needed to save ourselves."_

_"Do not insult my intelligence, my lord," Riddel snapped. "You may have fooled my father, and everyone else, but you have not fooled me. Whatever reason you seek the Frozen Flame—if that is even your true goal at all—it is not for the good of El Nido or its people. And no...while you are right that I do fear this lost artifact and what it can do, I fear you more, and that is why I will never support this alliance. Because there is no possible way I can countenance joining with what you are."_

_He waited, but the woman seemed as infinitely patient as he was, and just as aware of the advantage she held so long as she did not relent. At last he exhaled slowly and asked the obvious question. "Which is?"_

_"Evil." The word slipped out easily, unquestioningly. "Pure evil."_

_Lynx smiled broadly at this, making quite sure to display his fangs; he was not disappointed, since Riddel shivered and stiffened visibly. "I see. But come now, my lady, you know the nature of this world we live in. How can I not be evil, when there is evil all around me? It is the only way to survive, and survive we must. Besides, I _ ** _am _ ** _of the Black Element."_

_Riddel laughed mockingly. "That's too easy, Sir Lynx. We always have choices, and if those around you choose wrong, that is all the more reason to choose right, to give the example and to defy them." She dared to turn her back on him dismissively. "And I know of many whose innates are Black that are quite good and honorable people." _

_He was severely tempted to lash out at her, whether with claws or magic, but he had come too far now to lose himself in a temper tantrum. Far better to continue to press his advantage with words, while he still held it. He did, however, approach her again, one slow step at a time. "You humans are so predictable. So fond of your names and labels, of categorizing everything. You put it in a box, call it what you wish, and think you know it. But you never will. Evil? Evil is merely viewpoint. If you think I am evil, it is only because of our opposing Elements."_

_The demi-human stood close enough now that he could exhale his hot breath onto the back of her slender, graceful neck of porcelain; she could not escape him, not from the corner she had retreated to by the window. He lifted his hands and allowed them to hover a hair's-breadth away from her bare shoulders, then down along the sides of her dress. "As I said, I could seduce you. Or attempt to, if you prefer. But I will not. I don't have to. Because I am here to remind you—yes, you personally—that you are already in my paws. Figuratively speaking."_

_The insufferably saintly woman kept her face averted, staring out the window into the growing purple shadows of night. Terror filled her every syllable, but she still did not relent. "What do you mean?"_

_Now he did rest his massive paws upon her, feeling her flesh beneath the material of her dress—feeling the constant trembling of her body as she stood on the verge of screaming and recoiling away, staying still by some well of determination. He maintained the contact...not stroking her, not caressing or even brushing forbidden areas, only...touched her. Let her feel his heat, his presence, his undeniable reality. As he could feel her fear._

_"Not my paws, or not only them. You are in the hands of everyone around you, all those whose choices and actions affect your life for good or for ill. The hands of Fate, most of all. This free will you prize so highly...it is a lie. Or if true, it can only get you so far in life. When it comes down to it, we all have a destiny, and it is difficult if not impossible to change it. Not without great pain and sacrifice. Are you willing to do that, my dear and gentle lady? Are you willing to see what else you can give up, what you can be made to lose, to keep your independence? Like your beloved Dario?"_

_It happened instantly, without warning—she twisted and whirled about, her hand hauling back and slapping him, hard, across the muzzle. In spite of himself, even though he'd been certain such a thing was coming, he staggered back a step; she was much stronger than she looked. _

_They stared at each other, and at the same time he understood just what he had pushed her to, she seemed to as well—that as cathartic and relieving as that action had been, he had broken her will by doing so. That instead of remaining stoic, calm, and defiant, she had crossed a line, lashed out in anger and fallen prey to violence instead of pacifism. The war was not over, her defeat was not inevitable, but this battle he had won, and the next would be easier, and the next._

_Stepping back another pace from her, he adjusted his hat which had become slightly askew and regarded her knowingly. "I would apologize, say my words were uncalled for...but that is the way life is, my lady. It insults you, it threatens you, it brings you pain and then keeps you from forgetting it. If you cannot handle me...if you cannot handle the truth...then I am afraid you will be suffering for a good long while to come." He turned toward the door, but paused to look back over his shoulder. _

_"We are all caught in the threads of Fate, and how you feel now...how you felt when I was touching you...is but a foretaste of your future. Particularly once the Frozen Flame is found. Get used to it." He bowed. "I bid you good evening. Pleasant dreams." And with that he gathered his shadow powers about him and vanished._

_Or at least, he appeared to. In actuality he had simply become one with the shadows in the room, then retreated into the farthest corner where the lamplight did not reach. As he did so, he was quite satisfied to see Riddel stare, frightened and distraught, at the place where he had stood—whether because of his parting words or because his 'disappearance' had made her realize he could come and go as he pleased, would always be watching her. Then with a strangled cry she collapsed in her chair and buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking and hair completely masking her face as she wept piteously._

_He stayed in that corner, observing this, for a good long while before truly returning to his own chamber. He did so enjoy watching his handiwork._

_Flicker._

_One step at a time...each movement careful and measured, crunching and rattling with the crumbling bone that made up every inch of the Isle of the Damned, making the footing quite treacherous...he climbed the precipice that stood at the uppermost portion of the island. There, on the highest ledge which extended out like a ship's prow over the endlessly surging tides of the sea, he found Karsh upon his knees, his axe tossed aside on the pathway as if it were cursed and he nevermore wished to wield it, his shoulders shaking with sobs as he buried his face in his hands._

_"Dario...! What have I done..?"_

_He fought the urge to spit contemptuously. "Pathetic fool..." He came to a stop behind the Deva and crossed his arms over his chest._

_Karsh looked up in confusion; he had yet to meet the ambassador from Porre, as Lynx had just made his alliance with the general but a few days ago, although Viper sending him and Dario here had, unbeknownst to him, been at the demi-human's behest. "Y-you are...?"_

_Lynx spoke slowly, firmly, every syllable stressed with great insistence. "Dario was killed by demons. Do you understand, Karsh?"_

_"But..."_

_He growled to cut him off, but he made sure to couch his reply with as much sardonic irony as possible. "Are you really going to tell everyone about what you just did? Are you willing to tell Riddel that _ ** _you_ ** _ murdered Dario because he was possessed by the Evil Sword?" _

_The blue-haired warrior was silent, of course, as he stared out woodenly toward the setting sun that set the ocean afire with its dying rays; there was nothing to say to that, and he knew it. The orange and red light soaking and tinting everything in the hues of blood was far too appropriate._

_"I didn't think so." Coming up beside the Deva's white-clad form, he reached out to rest a paw on Karsh's shoulder—a warm, paternal gesture seemingly meant to offer comfort and understanding, but one which he knew would send shivers through whomever he touched. Whether because of his Element, the power of Fate which flowed through his veins, or some instinctive sense of his nature, his higher purpose, everyone was unnerved by his touch and presence. "Do not worry. Do as I say, and everything will be just fine."_

_"Dario..." The name was whispered like a prayer, an appeal begging for forgiveness. The way the Deva was staring over the cliff edge, he wondered if Karsh was planning suicide. He hoped not, since the warrior would be most useful to his plans, but if the man was too broken and grief-stricken to go on, it was better if he removed himself from the picture now rather than later, when a weak link in the chain could undo everything he'd worked for._

_As he waited to see which way the human would choose, he turned and walked to where the dragoon had discarded the Masamune, after sending his dear friend toppling over the edge into the churning waves below. The blood-red blade nearly blended in with the unnaturally-colored ground, tainted by the lives that had been lost here, the greed and ambition and pride that had leaked into the very landscape. Kneeling down, he paused...then grasped the weapon's hilt._

_Closing his eyes as he felt the spirits within it stir, felt how their nature had been utterly corrupted, turned from heroism to villainy, protection to destruction, striking down evil to inciting fury and hatred everywhere it went, he smiled. The lust for blood...the desire to slay...the unholy need to conquer, control, dominate...it felt wonderful. Perfect. Like air for his lungs, water to slake his thirst, meat to sate his hunger. As if it were meant for him. _

** _If only the great Magus were here to see this. The sword whose presence and the touch of whose blade he could not withstand is now so transformed that he could cradle it close like a babe, kiss it like a lover...only now, when it is too late, when he is long defeated by the first...but just as pathetic...Glenn and Lavos is no more. Who says Fate does not have a sense of humor? I know she does...there is so much I know which none could ever suspect..._ **

_This had turned out better than he could ever have expected, although he'd had hopes after a few pointed questions to the general regarding the retired Deva, Radius and the mysterious death of his partner and rival, Dario and Glenn's father Garai... Yes, now this weapon of evil was his. And he knew just what to do with it..._

_Flicker. Flicker._

_"You did it, Kid." He didn't know which was stranger, hearing Serge's voice come out of his mouth or looking down at what had once been his own feline body collapsed on the stone floor, panting and gasping and writhing in pain from the defeat that had just been dealt him. As it was, he had to fight the urge to give the game away by smiling most sadistically. Everything had gone according to plan, the boy who had been so easy to mislead and string along and guide into the proper channels was now trapped in the very body he had just weakened in battle, easy prey to his former friends once the soul transference had been accomplished. Now he had the key..._

_"Y-yeah..." Her voice was rather unsteady, and when he turned to look at her he found it wasn't just from combat; a very strange look was on her face as she gazed at 'Lynx'. _

_"Now finish him." She didn't move, only kept staring at her fallen adversary. "What's wrong? Settle it once and for all." _

_Still she didn't move, and as he looked from her to the kneeling demi-human, he couldn't help feeling a slight chill. She couldn't possibly know the truth already? Although the confused and distressed expression on that feline face was indeed rather out-of-character for Lynx, enough to make him want to sneer in disgust._

_He sighed. _ ** _If you want something done right... _ ** _He forced solicitousness into his voice. "Kid, you're injured... Here, hand me your dagger. I'll finish him off." Crossing over, he took her weapon from her oddly numb fingers, then turned back to face the cowering robed figure. Now that sight he did enjoy, and wanted to savor, enough that even though he knew he really shouldn't he took his time in approaching. _

_The room behind him was ominously silent, but all he could focus on was the look of terror in those golden eyes, the look that said their owner knew he was finished, done for, about to die though he didn't know the reason why—and worse, in the body of a man hated and feared by everyone, so that he would receive only a pauper's grave if he was lucky. Certainly nothing as moving and meaningful as the stone atop Cape Howl. _

_Smirking to himself, 'Serge' brandished the dagger high. "Watch this, Kid...I'll avenge Lucca for you! Die, Lynx!" He tensed his muscles, starting to push off with one foot for his run..._

_"Wait!" Kid's voice rang out behind him, desperate and frantic, as if she'd been waiting for just this moment to look for an excuse to intervene._

_Although it was extremely difficult, he still had a role to play and could not afford to discard his pawns so quickly. He had to remember that until the time came these fools were as useless to him as the general, he was a boy from Arni and they were his friends and companions. Still, he couldn't completely keep the testiness out of his tone. "What, Kid? He's your foe, isn't he? He's the one you've been chasing and seeking revenge against for all this time, isn't he?"_

_"Yes," she admitted, reluctantly he thought. Then her expression hardened, and she stared at him accusingly, challengingly. "But how do you know Lucca's name?"_

_Now it was his turn to stare, dumbfounded. He was sure she'd have told Serge and the others, regaled them with the sob story of her poor orphaned childhood on the Zenan mainland. He made himself look as puzzled and concerned as he could manage. "What are you talking about, Kid?"_

_"Not once did I ever mention Lucca's name to you, Serge." There was definitely a dark note in her voice as she said the boy's name, as if she didn't trust or believe in it. _

_He closed his eyes. _ ** _Damnit_ ** _. He'd forgotten she only ever called her caregiver 'Sis'. Well, there was nothing to be done for it now. It was a good thing he always had another plan to fall back on in case one went wrong._

_Despite her having caught him in knowledge he shouldn't have had, Kid was still a little slow on the uptake. "No...don't tell me you're...?!"_

_He opened his eyes, his decision made—and really, it was so fitting._

_She only had time to narrow her blue eyes and glare at him hatefully, an expression which actually made her pixie-like features more unbearably cute than anything else, before he acted, launching forward without warning. Before even her thief reflexes could overcome the shock of surprise, he had her cradled with deceptive gentleness in his arm, almost as if embracing her...but his other hand had buried her own dagger in her to the hilt, right in her abdomen._

_Time, which had seemed to speed up as he attacked her, now seemed to slow. Turning his head, he met her gaze, saw the agony in their watering depths—almost as satisfying as the betrayal filling them. Still supporting her slender back, he jerked his hand back, wrenching the blade free so her life's blood could pour out of the gaping wound...then let her go. Staggering back a step, she continued staring up at him, unable to tear her eyes from his impassive face...and then slowly she fell to her knees, toppling, crumpling over on the floor, one hand futilely pressed to her belly._

_He stood over her...silent, contemplative, expressionless, inwardly gloating over his victory, at how he had finally removed a most annoying loose end and inflicted such pain and anguish upon the only one who might have figured out just what he was planning and why, the one who had nearly cost him Serge. To one side he could hear his former self growling and moaning, though whether at the sight before him or because he simply hadn't figured out how to talk yet with a demi-human mouth, he didn't know or care. He simply held the dagger at his side...letting the blood drip with thunderous cadence in the silence..._

_And then he smiled._

_"Serge...why?" This came from the knight Glenn, who'd been watching horrified and speechless all this time._

_He didn't even look; he merely gestured. "Quiet!" An electrical orb formed in his hand, crackling and incandescent, before whirling from his fingers and slamming into the dragoon's stomach, bending him double and sending him flying into the wall. He slid down to the stones with a groan and did not rise again. _

_"This is the end of the road for you, Kid," he said, matter-of-factly._

_Somehow, she wasn't dead, yet, and somehow she found the strength to lift her head and squint up at him as he approached. A grunt of pain escaped her. "Y-you're Lynx...ain't ya?!"_

** _Give the girl a silver loupe_ ** _. Laughing cruelly, he bent down on one knee and grabbed her violently by the hair, wrenching her head up and back so he could expose her slender throat. "I'll send you to see Lucca..."_

_Her eyes widened, then rolled back in their sockets as she passed out. He rather hoped it had been from his words, but more likely it had merely been from blood loss. But he also saw something else in her eyes that stayed his hand—for a moment, instead of fear or hate or anger, he saw a touch of relief, even hope. She had taken comfort in the thought; she wanted to see her 'Sis' again._

_Which meant he would do all he could to make sure she didn't._

_He put the knife away and let her head fall back again limply. "I'll finish you off later." She would be of far more use to him alive than dead...a simple memory wipe from a Record of Fate would put her soul to sleep, keep her from knowing what had happened here, how she'd been injured, who he was...and then she would make a perfect replacement for Harle, though much more docile and obedient once he'd placed her under his spell. Not to mention a delicious bait for Serge which would also make him hesitate to attack at the crucial moment..._

_Speaking of that, he had one last thing to do...one last twist of the knife..._

_Flicker. Flicker flicker._

_The cold, almost antiseptic halls of a strange, futuristic city...utterly empty and devoid of life save for spectral shapes that flitted at the corners of his eyes, and the mechanical drones which, thanks to the storm, thankfully seemed to be knocked out of commission. There were no sounds, no movements. It was only himself and Miguel. Turning back to his oldest friend, he clenched his jaw at the look of fear, uncertainty, and despair on that bespectacled face. _

_He knew what the fisherman was going to say, what he would urge them to do—and what would normally be wisdom was something he could not accept. This place was wrong, it did not belong, it should not exist...who knew what could be found further in, and what it would do when it recovered from the electrical surge? _

_But it was too late to make it to Marbule, even if they could manage it in this storm. It was now or never, here or nowhere._

_He shifted the precious burden over his shoulder to a better position. "I don't care what lies ahead of us... I'm going. There's no way I'll allow my son to die without a fight! I'd appreciate it if you waited for me here." He swallowed against a lump in his throat. "Thank you for coming tonight, Miguel... Thank you."_

_Without a backward glance, at either the statue memorial or his companion, he strode onward into the deserted fortress, ignoring the cries echoing hollowly behind him for him to stop, to wait. Nothing mattered. Only Serge. That voice they had heard, so strange and alien, so compelling, had summoned them. It must surely know how to heal Serge of his terrible, poisoned wounds. He had knocked that panther demon off of his boy with a mighty blow of his swallow, then buried one blade in its breast to leave the creature bleeding and dying on the sands, but that hadn't been enough to save him. _

_Serge was everything. Like that monument said, he was a child of the world who deserved peace. And he would face anything, do absolutely anything...sacrifice anyone and everything...if it would save his son. _

_Flicker. Flicker flicker flicker flicker._

_Cries of seagulls split the sun-warmed air, rising over the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore. It had always been soothing and reassuring, a lullaby to put him to sleep, a mother whispering lovingly to him, a home calling to him. But now it was only a faint buzzing in the back of his mind. Something else was more important, stronger, in control. The future. Destiny. Fate. _

_He had seen it in his mind's eye, felt it growing within him ever since returning from that city, and although he had fought it with every fiber of his being for the past four years because he knew it was wrong, another part of him kept whispering that it was right. That the storm which had blown them off-course was meant to have happened. That if not for taking Serge into the heart of the fortress, he would have died. That even if they had made it to Marbule, the witch doctor there could not have saved him...and so, now history needed to reassert itself. There was nothing any of them could do to break free...they simply had to give in, accept the truth, do what had been predetermined. _

_And finally, the Record of Fate had told him, that this was what had to be, what the future held, and that he had to follow its instructions for his own good. What had happened four years ago had to be undone so that fate could once more unfold as intended. And he...he had another role, another future it was time for him to embrace._

_He stood upon the sands of Opassa...gazing down at the small form crouching by the shore. A sand castle lay close at hand, but the boy was focused on something else, on threading a line through a fishing lure, his tongue extended from his mouth and his eyes crossed as he struggled rather comically. Memories stirred of teaching such things, but they were distant now, another life, another time. Instead he stepped closer, moving silently, only the sound of his breathing in his ears, even his heartbeat overridden by something else, something more mechanical._

_The blue-haired boy looked up and back at last, noticing him as his shadow fell over him. He smiled, if a bit uncertainly. "Daddy! Look what Kiki's dad showed me! I bet I can catch some real big fish with this! Just like you!"_

_Green washed over his vision._

_"Daddy? What's wrong?"_

_The time had come. He stepped forward._

_The boy only had time for one shocked gasp, a strangled cry for help, and then he was shoved back in his hands, off of the sand and into the churning waves of the sea. He could feel his little feet kicking, battering at his stomach, his chest, his legs, but even when they managed to strike the blows did not register. All that mattered was holding him in place, hands like iron gripping his narrow shoulders...holding him down beneath the water. Bubbles rose, those small limbs flailed and kicked all the harder, but he did not relent. It had to be done. It was fate._

_In his mind, he could hear the same voice he had the first time he'd touched a Record following his return from the Sea of Eden...the voice that had finally convinced him of its truth so that he would come to the beach on this day. A voice dispassionate, clinical, inhuman. _ ** _Thus, the life force called Serge was not allowed to remain in this world. Fate has no forgiveness for those who dare stand against her. _ **

_Before him, he could see his reflection in the water...his face a heartless mask, features slack, eyes empty save for that green light, everything hollow and hard. A vessel waiting to be filled and used. _

** _Fate has waited for you to come. All these years, she has waited. You have come, and now you belong to her. See what you must do. I have shown you in the Record. Whisper it back to me._ **

_The waves continued to flow, the water to surge and churn. The struggles were lessening...the bubbles fading, breaking, disappearing one by one. He could feel something strange in the water...his skin no longer smooth, becoming furry, while his nails became claws, extending from the fingers that now clutched the boy's neck._

** _Whisper what you must do for me. _ **

_In the water, his reflection changed. Gone were human features, human skin, human eyes. Pointed ears, thick grayish-brown fur, a feline muzzle with sharp fangs bared, eyes of blazing gold so like ones he had seen on the creature that poisoned his son. Yes, of course. Fitting. Fated. The small form no longer struggled; it had gone limp. What had come from the sea had returned to the sea. _

** _Whisper what you must do for me._ **

_"I must serve you," he whispered...and it came out as a predator's growl..._

With a strangled, snarling cry of rage, terror, and disbelief, Lynx broke free of the sphere of water that had surrounded him. The liquid smashed apart and fell to the stone floor of the chamber, leaving streams and puddles everywhere. He coughed, and the sound came out like that of a hunting animal. He fell forward on all fours, his hands grasping at the stones—and they were paws, claws digging into the floor before him. His body was large and powerful once again, weighted down with muscle and fur...but all he had eyes for, as he gazed down into the water shimmering in flat pools before him, was his face. The same face he had just seen in that vision—no, memory. The face of the man who had brought him to this chamber, who had told him this might be the only way to restore his memories and self.

The face of a monster. A beast.

He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut, claws flexing spasmodically, tail lashing, his whole body shivering not with the cold but with fear, with revulsion, with realization of an awful truth. Again and again, he had seen it in those memories displayed for him within the Dragon Tear, seen what he had been, what he had done. It had not been him, another had shaped him, controlled him, twisted him...and yet somewhere, deep down inside, it had been, the darkest part of his heart, the darker side of his soul. He knew that now. He knew what he had done and why, but he also knew who he was, who he truly was. Both sets of memories were there...past and present, two lives, two worlds, two fates.

A sound on the other side of the room made him flinch, jerking his head up to stare at the only other person present, and instinctively he rose to his feet to defend himself. He had no weapon now save his claws and fangs, and he was utterly naked—vulnerable despite his great size and strength, and that seemed only fair after what he had done. But he still stood, still brought his paws up to ward the other away. He could draw on the Black Element within him, on his unique attacks he had devised—but no, that would be wrong. He would face his judgment, his punishment.

He lowered his paws...peered beseechingly at the other.

The young man—Serge—was also naked, and he too seemed to wish for a weapon, although his swallow still lay on the floor near the doors and could be reached easily should he choose to make a dash for it. Not that Lynx would try to stop him. He stared at the demi-human, who stared back...seeming to be fighting warring impulses, to run away or to reach out to him for comfort. To set his jaw and demand answers, recompense, or to apologize. Finally, he seemed to find his voice. "Do...do you remember? Do you know...who you are now?"

It took a struggle of his own to find his voice, to force the words out in what was now a hated growl. "Yes. Yes, I remember. I remember...everything."

Serge swallowed hard, but he could clearly tell the cat-man meant him no harm. Lowering his own hands, he moved a few steps closer across the stones. "You mean...?"

He took a few steps of his own, unsteady at first until he recalled how to use his digitigrade feet, then with more confidence and security. When he was only a pace away from the Arni youth, he stopped...paws held out in supplication, claws sheathed...and then he opened his arms.

A few moments more, the tableau held. Then with a wordless cry, Serge fell into his arms, embracing him tightly, burying his face in the demi-human's musky chest fur. As if that had been a signal, he felt his knees giving way, bearing them both down to the floor again, and as he held the other close, those soft padded paws clutching his back as if he would never let him go, he began to cry...softly at first, then harder, shoulders shaking with his sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks and soaking his already wet fur.

"I am...sorry. So, so sorry." Lynx—Wazuki—choked out the words, as filled with horror as his golden feline eyes were. "What have I done? Please...please, son, say you can forgive me...it wasn't me. I am so sorry...I swear it wasn't me..."

Serge's voice was muffled as he stayed where he was, his fingers digging into his father's furred back. "I know...I know it wasn't. I know just how that feels..."


	3. Chapter 3

Everything was a blur after that for some time. To Lynx's utter shock, despite the fact he'd been the one to have the Dragon Tear stolen, Steena accepted Serge's defense of his innocence and character with equanimity, and the little painter's son Van responded almost as quickly, saying he trusted Serge, so he trusted anyone he vouched for. That didn't wipe the wariness, fear, or suspicion from their eyes, though, as they rode the teleporter back down into the fortress proper...and he knew with a clarity born of logic rather than prescience that it would only get worse when they joined the others.

He was right. When they materialized in the black crystal's maze, it was almost a competition as to which of his son's companions wanted to attack him first—though right at the forefront was Karsh and Marcy, with Fargo and Radius right behind them, and unsurprisingly even General Viper seemed itching to lay into him despite remaining a silent, still sentinel at one side of the stone ledge.

He wasn't certain what held them back—though the fact the Lord of El Nido wasn't sanctioning it, and that the Shrine Maiden was severely and sternly glowering at anyone who even reached toward a weapon, probably factored into it. Or perhaps it was simply that Serge himself, wrapped in a concealing blanket by a thoughtful Irenes, gazed imploringly at them, asking them to allow him time to explain, to give him the benefit of the doubt until he could offer his rationale.

Whatever it was, they stood down—Radius with a rather grumpy humph, Karsh with a rather ostentatious stroking of two fingers along the edge of his axe blade as if stripping it of blood, and Marcy with a temperamental stomp of one foot—and the party headed back toward the elevator and the entrance. No one bothered to offer him any form of covering or modesty, as if believing his paws were enough to shield prying eyes, but he had to admit no one seemed to be looking either, nor were the humans among them bothered by him being a demi-human. And it wasn't that he was particularly cold, for even in the stone halls of Fort Dragonia his fur and muscle mass protected him. But...it was embarrassing nonetheless, and being treated to rejection and hatred for who he was, rather than what, wasn't really an improvement.

Not that the nakedness lasted long; once they had passed through the fortress and descended Mount Pyre back to the shore, Serge had softly asked about whether he had a ship, as he had in Another World, and if that was where he had left the teenager's original clothing. The feline had nodded, indicating the same hidden cove where he and Viper had concealed their crafts what seemed a lifetime ago, this time holding only the sleek, darkly-hued metal of the Porrean vessel he'd been granted as an ambassador, rocking silently on the waves—smaller than the _Invincible_, but much larger than either the boat Norris had provided or the wooden Guldovian craft Serge had first obtained in Termina. Despite the rather ominous image the ship presented, his son ascended the gangplank without hesitation...and when Lynx caught up with him, then led the way to his cabin, they found not only Serge's old Arni clothing in its closet, but also the demi-human's original outfit.

Lynx took his time donning it. His excuse was pondering to himself why it was that the Tear, in switching their souls back, had been able to youthen them both to infants, without their clothes, and could then reconstruct Serge's human self, but not Wazuki's. The only thing he could conclude was that Serge's DNA had been on hand in his original body, but Wazuki's, thanks to Fate's genetic manipulation, had been irrevocably lost, leaving only the panther she had created him from.

Either that or, he reflected morosely, the Dragonian spirits of the fortress had decided being trapped in this form was the punishment he deserved... But in truth, as worthwhile as such thoughts might be, the real reason he dressed slowly was to delay, as long as he could, the confrontations he knew lay ahead.

And once both of them were clad again, and had stepped out onto the deck, ready to join the others in being ferried back to the _Invincible_, those confrontations had begun immediately.

Once again it was the Devas to go at him first, with Marcy threatening to kick him in the shins and progress to other, more violent attacks in more tender places, all described in such loving detail in that overly-saccharine little girl voice that he found himself going pale so often he thought he'd pass out again. Karsh, on the other hand, was more pointed and direct about his grievances—not only did he lay into Lynx for the way he had manipulated and used General Viper, culminating with literally stabbing him in the back, but he brought up the incident at the Isle of the Damned.

Which in turn had caused Lady Riddel, already wary of and angry with him for his twisted threats and seductions back at the manor, to nearly fly into a shocking rage as she learned that, indirectly at least, he was responsible for Dario's death in this world; he had the feeling she'd have done much worse than the second slap she'd given him, if Serge hadn't placed a concerned hand on her shoulder—her rod's Element gems had certainly been shining with more than the sunlight.

Viper himself, oddly, had continued to remain stoic and disturbingly calm, although the look in his eyes and his tone when he finally spoke was all the more chilling for it, as he expressed only disappointment and contempt for his betrayal, how he had been serving Porre all along and only using him and an innocent youth from Arni to gain the Flame and ultimate power. The revelation he was actually Serge's father only made the Lord of El Nido even more quietly furious.

Radius, unsurprisingly, was just as furious over these final points, and even though it had happened in the other world, he was also quite bitter about the way the demi-human had enabled Porre to conquer El Nido and occupy Termina, particularly that he had led the other dragoons, Viper, and Riddel to their doom in the Dead Sea.

And that, of course, had led to a rather terrifying, fiery rage from the blacksmith Zappa as he roared almost bestially over having taken his son from him...that time it had been Karsh who stepped in, pointing out (albeit with ill grace and sullen reluctance) that he was still alive in this world, at least. And a good thing he had, since that fire had almost become literal as both Zappa's axe and his fist had begun to glow a ruddy cherry in hue.

The pirate captain, meanwhile, had been rather livid—since not only had Lynx clashed with the _Invincible_ on the high seas as part of Porre's "good will" tour scouring the archipelago of criminals for the general, but it was his standing orders with his superiors, set in place just before he'd set off for Fort Dragonia with the Tear, that had led to Fargo's capture and incarceration in the manor prison. While Commander Norris, even as he remained soft-spoken and non-confrontational, had clenched his jaw as he spoke of how Lynx had manipulated him too with promises he never intended to keep, supposed pleas for peace and a better world when all he'd wanted was to rule and dominate just like the council in Porre.

Each of them, in the end, had had their anger run its course, and then be defused once they learned the truth—not just that Lynx was actually Serge's transformed father, but that none of what he had done had been by his own will. That he was as much a puppet and plaything as they were, more so even since at least they'd had their own freedom to choose and act as they wished, while he had been a slave to the panther demon...and to Fate.

This last revelation had been especially infuriating to everyone...and distressing. It wasn't every day you learned that your life truly was in the hands of someone else, a being of great power and omniscience that, far from having your best interests at heart, was capriciously and callously controlling you to justify obscure goals you had no inkling of. Or worse, just for its own power and to satisfy curiosity and twisted experiments into the human condition.

They hadn't wanted to believe it, of course, especially Fargo, Radius, and Karsh; as Harle had once said to him, "Nobody wantz to know ze truth. Zey only look for a lie to make zem feel at eaze." Though in all fairness, the story did absolve Lynx of all responsibility for what had been done to them, and it left them even more enraged and wishing to lash out for being lied to and manipulated. As the axe-wielding Deva put it, "Give me a frickin' break! You mean to tell me we were bein' used all this time!? Just how far back does all this plottin' and schemin' go?"

Lynx had had no answer for that which Karsh would want to hear, although based on what he knew from Fate's files on the Dragon God, and what he was beginning to suspect about Harle and even Balthasar, he was certain the layers of gambits and chess-mastering were more numerous and convoluted than anyone knew. But in all other respects he held nothing back, told them everything he knew and suspected about the supercomputer, and of his wish to join forces with them—for while he knew he could never truly atone for what he had been made to do, he would do anything to help them stop Fate, make her pay.

At this point, Viper had put an end to the arguing and denials by pointing out that after what the Prophet of Time had told him through veiled hints upon coming to the manor, and Luccia's experiments upon Records of Fate which had had disquieting results, it would not surprise him in the least if there was some sort of guiding and sinister intelligence such as this behind everything. In his opinion it made it even more imperative that they get to the bottom of things and stop her from obtaining control of the Frozen Flame—as she was responsible for every grief and loss they had suffered, she was the one who had ruined so many lives (particularly, it now seemed, that of Serge and his family), and she was the one whom they should revenge themselves upon. One such as that should never have the power of such an artifact.

To this everyone had agreed, and though many of them were still fiercely angry and hateful, or at least extremely reluctant, they also agreed that Lynx, or rather Wazuki, was not to blame for what had happened; that he had every right to join them in bringing down Fate; and that his knowledge of her and his power set would be extremely useful in the battle ahead.

But of course none of them had apologized for their actions and outbursts either—nor did he blame them—except Norris, who said he understood completely what it was to like to have to follow orders from on high you did not like and would never agree with, and Riddel, who as soon as she'd understood that everything which had happened to Dario, to her father, and to herself was all at this inhuman machine's behest, she had immediately and sincerely offered Lynx her sympathy and her pity. While it would take her a long time to be comfortable in his presence, she said softly, she felt only the deepest sorrow and anguish for what had been done to him, how he had lost his body, his soul, his will, been forced to kill his own son. She could not imagine what that was like...

Staring at her in shock and a growing sense of guilt—the Lady of Viper Manor was far more tender-hearted, sweet, and forgiving than he had given her credit for, more than he truly deserved—the demi-human had humbly removed his hat and bowed to her in true respect and honor, apologizing yet again for all that had occurred, especially for how he had treated her in her boudoir. He was a married man, after all! Sprigg had rather dryly pointed out that was the least of his worries now, but Riddel had smiled at him and thanked him gently.

He could never tell her how easy it had actually been to do those things, with Fate in control, and that especially the drowning of Serge had come with such shocking effortlessness when compared to how he had once fought so hard to save his son's life. How...how had he fallen so far, so fast? What was the start of it all? When did the cogs of Fate begin to turn? How did his despair, his inner darkness, become released, turn into such greed and hunger for power, make him into a monster? He didn't know...but he would never tell her, or Serge, or anyone...and he would do all he could to make amends for it, somehow.

But that didn't change the fact that the worst confrontation of all was yet to come, in the form of a certain young thief girl who had come back with him and his son from the cabin of his ship...

When he and Serge had finished dressing, his son had asked about Kid, last seen at Dark Serge's side during the ambush at Hermit's Hideaway. The demi-human had silently led him to another cabin, where the Radical Dreamer had been lying, fully clothed, on her bed, dead to the world and enchanted by his spell. It would not have done, of course, to allow her freedom to cause trouble while he was fighting Serge at the fort. Upon seeing her unconscious form, the teenager had let out a soft cry and started to step forward, then stopped himself; he knew waking her up now would be a mistake, since she'd instantly go for him—or, if the spell were broken, for Lynx. So he suggested they carry her to the boat and restore her once they got to the _Invincible_. Since this would put off the conflict he feared, his father had of course agreed.

Now that the worst was past, and they had privacy, however, there was no more delaying the inevitable.

As Serge stood in the corner behind him, arms crossed and expression anxious, Lynx knelt by the bed where they had placed Kid. A paw resting atop her head, he sent a brief surge of gravitational energy through her deceptively delicate-looking body, wiping out the spell the Record had placed on her and resetting her memories. Then he snapped his fingers before her face.

Slowly those big blue eyes twitched...fluttered...and opened. A frown creased her brow. "Wot the...where am I...?" Her gaze shifted, focused on him—and instantly she was reaching for her dagger.

"Kid, wait! It's not what it looks like!" Serge reached out for her.

She didn't even seem to hear him. Rolling out of bed and landing adroitly, she rose to a crouch, the blade of her weapon shining in the lamp light, her whole body tense and quivering as she stared in utter hatred at her archenemy. "_You_...wot's happened t' me? You did it, didn'tcha? I don't know wot I did, but I know it's gotta be bad." Finally she seemed to notice Serge, though her eyes remained riveted on Lynx. "Get behind me, mate, I'll keep 'im busy while ya get a head start."

The Arni youth winced and didn't move, except to sidle a little closer to the black-clad form that had yet to move from his kneeling position. "Kid...no. He—he's not an enemy. Not...anymore." From the sound of his voice, he knew exactly how lame his explanation sounded.

Slowly that blonde head turned, eyes narrowing. "Wot th' hell are you talkin' about? Don't tell me he finally got t' ya, brainwashed ya?"

Oh, the irony. "Actually, that would have been you," Lynx murmured.

"Shut up!" Knife still held unwaveringly in his direction to ward him away, even though he hadn't moved a muscle, she still kept her gaze on Serge. "I'm still waitin', mate."

Serge sighed and shook his head. "No, not at all, Kid. More like...I had my eyes opened. I learned...a lot of things, while we were apart. About the world, myself, my place in it. Things aren't what we thought, what we were told. There's still some hope, but...it's a lot worse than we thought, too."

Kid visibly rolled her eyes. "Tell me somethin' I don't know. But you can drop th' mumbo-jumbo, yer not that fortuneteller. Speak plain English an' tell me wot's goin' on."

For a moment Serge looked heartened, probably because her reference indicated she had at least some of her memories back. But then he hung his head once more. "Just what I said, Kid. Lynx isn't the enemy any more. He never was, there was...someone else, some_thing_ else, behind him, making him do what he did, and that's our real enemy."

She looked so shocked and startled he thought she would drop her dagger; but then instead she threw her head back and laughed nastily. "Right! Like I'm supposed t' believe that. Tell me another one, mate! An' I suppose he told ya that, an' we're just supposed t' trust him?!"

He closed his eyes. "Yes, he did. But I know we can trust him now because...he's changed. Because of what the Dragon Tear did to him, to me, when it switched us back."

Lynx thought this would draw another scoffing reply and a sneer, but Kid actually looked troubled and lowered her gaze; apparently she remembered her stabbing at the fort, and what she'd realized about Serge just before it happened. But when she looked up again, her expression remained fierce and determined as ever. "Well, I'm glad ya got yer own body back, mate, but why th' hell would ya trust th' thing that did that to ya? Who knows what kinda magical hoodoo that thing can do to...you?" She made a face. "Bugger, you know wot I mean!"

If it were any other time, he thought Serge might have laughed, or at least grinned sheepishly. Instead, he lifted his bandana-clad head, giving her as unyielding a look as she wore. "It's not evil, even if it was used for an evil purpose. The Dragonians who made it...they helped me see a lot of things. They gave Lynx back his memories, too...he'd lost them, you see..."

"Cry me a river!" the thief snapped. "You _know _wot he did, an' you _still _think ya can stand up fer him, keep me from gettin' my revenge fair an' square?"

For the first time since he'd woken her, Lynx spoke for the whole room to hear, his voice subdued, sad, and strained. "Maybe you ought to let her stab me, Serge. It'd be poetic justice, and it would save us all a lot of trouble."

"Shut up," they chorused. He flattened his ears and went silent again.

"...and that's why he wants to help us," Serge continued, as if he hadn't even been interrupted, gazing intently at Kid. "He's told us so many things about Fate—see, _that's_ our enemy, she's this...huge machine from the future, I guess. Trying to keep history from changing, the world from ending, but she got it into her head she was a goddess, that anything she could do to save the world was justified, and..." He spread his hands helplessly. "And he wants to help us stop her."

"Fate, huh?" Kid sounded skeptical, and he didn't blame her. "Well I gotta admit, that does make sense. Seems like fate's always been against me, against all of us. Might as well be literal now, eh?" She shook her head, and though some of the anger and distrust had bled out of her, she still glared in his direction when she spoke next. "Even if yer right, though, that still don't explain why he did wot he did. Or why I should forgive him. Or call a truce, or wotever. He's probably still lyin' t' ya, an' even if he ain't, we don't need him. We can take on this Fate all by ourselves, we got plenty of allies who can help us out in a scrap."

Again she gripped the hilt of her dagger, and as she aimed it toward Lynx, she growled softly, her voice as serious and dark as it had ever been in his memories. "Give me _one_ good reason why I shouldn't kill him, gut him right now where he stands."

"He's my father," Serge blurted out, then winced.

Absolute silence reigned, stretching longer and longer, until even Lynx's sharp feline ears could hear nothing except the distant waves outside. Just as he was on the verge of unleashing a yowl to break the quiet and keep his ears from bursting, Kid lowered her dagger, worked her mouth soundlessly, and then cried, "You have _got_ t' be bloody kiddin' me!"

It took quite some time after that to explain the whole story—how Wazuki had become Lynx and why, what Fate had done to him and forced him to do, what this all had to do with Serge and the Frozen Flame. By the time the Arni youth had concluded with what the Tear had done, how Lynx was now free of the computer's control, and why they could trust him, Kid had not only sheathed her dagger but had sat down hard on the bed and placed her head in her hands. It was, after all, a lot to take in, and rather mind-breaking.

But when the thief finally spoke again, it wasn't in confusion or incomprehension; her voice was thick with disgust, anger, and loathing. "That's...that's just sick, mate. Sick an' wrong." She looked up with horrified blue eyes, staring at Serge in disbelief. "I thought I had it bad. I mean...I don't have anyone left, no one t' love...never had a family 'cept Sis, an' she got taken from me." She actually managed not to skewer Lynx with a glare as she said this. "But you, mate...you didn't just lose yer dad...he got stolen from ya...turned into a monster...an' made t' kill ya. That's...that's just unbelievable."

There was nothing to say to that, as everything she'd been told was true, and her response to it was perfectly appropriate.

Several more minutes went by as they said nothing, only let her digest and adjust to this new information. At last she clenched her gloved hands into fists, relaxed them only to grip her bare knees tightly, before she sighed. "I'm...gonna need some time alone, t' think about this. Serge...why don'tcha go see about roundin' up th' rest of our friends, so we can all head fer th' Sea of Eden together?"

Feeling an inordinate sense of relief, even as part of him thought that had been far too easy, Lynx rose to his feet and silently followed his son out of the cabin. But just as he was passing through the doorway, he heard Kid's voice behind him. "Wait. Not you."

He flinched, pausing and looking back warily over his shoulder. Serge had also stopped in the corridor. The thief had risen from the bed and now stood with her back to him, looking out the room's only window, hands clenched behind her. When neither of them moved, she growled, "I ain't gonna kill him, mate. I can't. Not now that I know who he really is. I just wanna talk t' him fer a bit. I promise."

Serge didn't really look as if he believed her, but Lynx silently shook his head and gestured to him that it was all right to leave; he trusted Kid, and if for some reason she broke her word and tried to attack, he was fairly confident he could hold her off. If he even wanted to...

When the youth from Arni had departed and Lynx had stepped back into the room and closed the door softly, he finally found his voice. "Thank you, Kid. I know how hard this must be for you, and I'm truly grate—"

"Save it." The words were harsh and cold, snapped out with enough force he briefly rocked back on his heels. "You know damned well I haven't forgiven ya, Lynx—or Wazuki, wotever th' hell I should call ya now. Don't think I ever can. I ain't doin' this fer you, I'm doin' it fer Serge. He just found ya again, an' th' last thing I wanna do is take away from him someone he loves. Like wot happened t' yers truly." Even though she still kept her back to him, he could hear the fury in her final words, see it in the tense set of her narrow shoulders.

After a few moments, he recovered himself enough to say, softly, "I know. Because no matter what we say, no matter who is responsible, it won't change what happened. What I did." In spite of everything he drew himself up to his full six-foot-four height, raised his chin. "Surely it helps, though, to know I didn't do it willingly. That I never would have done such terrible things, to you or anybody, if Fate hadn't made me."

Kid laughed, sardonically, mockingly. "Wot a crock. That's just an excuse, an' you an' I both know it." As he started to speak again, she finally turned and held up a hand, her face a mask of anguished pain and bitterness. "I know, I know—she really was in yer head, messin' with yer mind, she stuck you together with that panther demon, she changed ya into her creature...crikey, that don't change th' fact ya still did it. An' I'm pretty damn sure this Fate wouldn't've been able t' get t' ya th' way she did if ya didn't want it...if ya didn't let her in."

The demi-human closed his eyes, shuddered, and then nodded. "You...have a point. But surely you can see I have changed now. That I didn't mean to do what I did." Unable to stop himself, he let a note of accusation creep into his voice. "And as I recall, you know exactly what it's like to be made to do things you didn't want to do, when you were under my compulsion."

She snorted. "Don't remind me, an' don't think I've forgiven ya fer that, either." But there was less resentment and hatred in her voice now; instead it had become tired, listless, as if without him to pin her direct vengeance against, she'd been set adrift on the sea currents and had no idea where to go, what to do next, how to live.

Her next words confirmed it. "Look, wotever. The thing is, even if I take everythin' ya told my mate Serge at face value, yer still th' one who ruined my life, killed my Sis, an' used me fer yer own ends. Even if Fate was th' one pullin' th' strings, yer still th' one I saw doin' th' deeds, carryin' out th' evil. An' it's the same fer everyone else on this here boat whose lives you've torn apart. We all know who's really t' blame. We're gonna face her, take her out, get our revenge. An' if there's any way you can help us do that, we'll accept yer help." She stepped closer, her expression dark in the shadows, one fist clenching in his face. "But don'tcha ever think that means we trust ya...or that we'll ever forget."

Lynx took a long, deep breath, nodded again, and looked away, unable to meet those ravaged blue eyes any longer. "Of course not. I don't expect any such thing. But...do you think you're the only one who won't be able to forget...who will be haunted forever by what happened? I do not ask for your sympathy because I know I'll never get it; it just isn't possible. But remember, while each of you suffered greatly at my...paws, I am the one who committed every one of those deeds. You each only have to deal with what your own life encompassed. I must bear the burden of _everything_ each of you experienced. Bear it knowing I caused it all...and now that I am myself again, regretting each to my dying day, wishing I could undo it, but knowing I never can."

He looked back now, his voice having risen and gained that fearsome growl he hated, but which now underscored the pain he felt. "That is a far worse punishment than anything you could devise for me. Killing me would actually be a mercy. Leaving me alive...that is the finest revenge." He stared at her, golden eyes blazing, trying to drive home his point.

For several long moments she stared back at him, shock mingled with cynicism on her face; he thought he detected a few brief instances of regret, of realizing what a living hell he had been consigned to, followed by much longer moments of fierce, unholy joy as she reveled in this vengeance achieved. Then she turned away again to the window, shaking her head so that her braid shifted on her back. "Huh. Who'da thought...? Maybe I was wrong in what I told Serge. Maybe th' ones who hurt others really can get paid back an' suffer fer what they did." She paused, then went on reluctantly.

"Or maybe I was right. 'Cause th' real one who was doin' th' killin' an' devourin'...she's still out there, free as a bird, controllin' everyone through those damn Records. An' you, who never would've hurt anyone before she got hold of ya...yer fortune's even more blood-stained than mine."

Lynx managed a small smile; it seemed, despite everything, Kid did understand and could dredge up a smidgeon of pity for him. "Truer words haven't been spoken. But don't worry; I'll make sure she doesn't get away with this any longer, whatever it takes." He clenched his fist, feeling his Element rising within him along with his temper, and forced it back down. "Then you'll never have to see me again, and you and everyone else can get on with your lives, finding happiness again...while I'll continue to pay for my sins."

"You make it sound so easy," the thief said wistfully. "Like I can just go back t' Zenan an' pick up where I left off, find love, do wotever I please, an' everything'll be fine."

"I never said that," he whispered. "But things will at least be better, with Fate gone and me out of the picture. Besides..." He moved up behind Kid, though he made quite sure to stay out of reach should she suddenly draw her weapon. "It may be easier than you think. You may not have lost everything, and you truly can start again."

"Wot d'ya mean?" She whipped her head around to glare at him suspiciously.

"Dr. Ashtear," he said softly. "She isn't dead."

Those eyes widened, and for a shocking instant the brash, tough, devil-may-care thief was gone, replaced by the innocent little girl she had once been, tears welling up as she stared at him in desperate hope. Then she clenched her jaw and snapped, "Yer lyin'! This whole thing's been a lie, ya haven't changed one bit, yer just pretendin' t' be Serge's dad so you could lay this whopper on me!"

"No." He was certain of this, more certain than he was of anything else save that Fate had to be destroyed. It was one of the few memories he was grateful the Tear had restored, since it allowed him, in one small way, to make amends for the past. "I know it hurts, I know you're afraid to trust and believe in case this is a trick to break your heart even more. But it's true. Lynx would never have told you...he would have allowed you to keep believing her dead, just to be cruel, to motivate you to kill Serge in his body. But the truth is, she was kept alive, kidnapped from your burning orphanage...her scientific genius needed to access the Flame. And even after she could not or would not release the lock upon it, she was kept alive."

Kid seemed to have stopped breathing, and was definitely wobbling, weak and unbalanced. She grabbed the windowsill for support. "Who...how...?"

"Harle." Despite everything, Lynx smiled at the admission; his demonic self had not appreciated the jester's charms, had only seen her as a hindrance, a fool, a frivolous idealist he was forced to keep around because of her significant elemental powers, the connections she forged with Mystics and demi-humans, the trust she earned from others with her amusing, winsome ways, and her knowledge of the Dragon Tear...and Serge. But looking back now he could see how hard she tried to blunt his murderous ways, to find clever if deceitful alternatives to violence and death. And this had been one such moment.

"She convinced me...or rather, Fate...that keeping Lucca alive but letting the world and you think her dead was a better option. That even without the Flame, her knowledge of time travel and technological know-how was invaluable, an asset she should not discard. And if necessary that she could be used as a hostage, to bargain with you." And, though he was not ready to reveal it...not certain how Kid or anyone else would react to full knowledge of the future...because she was forbidden by Balthasar to bring harm to any director of the Time Fortress...or her creators.

"Where is she then?" Seeming to have recovered her spitfire ways, standing firm and quivering with barely-restrained energy, Kid gripped her dagger hilt once more. "If she ain't dead, where'd you put her?!"

"Chronopolis, of course," he smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking. "She is a prisoner of Fate, as are we all...just a little more directly than most."

Instantly her dagger was out again, but this time she wasn't aiming it at him. Instead the thief pushed past him toward the door, her voice rising in a crow of ferocious, eager joy. "Well then what are we waitin' for? Let's get t' th' Sea of Eden an' rescue her!" She grinned almost maniacally. "And then make that bloody bitch who took her pay!"

A cough came from the doorway, and both of them jumped; Serge stood there, watching with a growing smile of his own on his handsome young face. Lynx stared, dumbfounded; how had his son snuck up on them like that? Especially him, with his keen feline hearing? Unless he'd learned how to circumvent it from being the demi-human for so long...

"That sounds like a great idea," he said. "But the _Invincible_ is already heading there. General Viper, Commander Norris, and the Devas are going back to Termina and the manor to reclaim our allies there; Orcha and Steena are heading to Guldove, and Chief Radius to Arni. They all said it's the least they could do, and that I've done enough." Serge smiled fondly, and Lynx felt his heart go out to him—not only had he made so many friends on his journey, they were all willing to let the one chosen by the Flame, by the Dragon Gods, by destiny finally get the rest he had earned. "So until then, we've got the run of the boat. I thought we'd go up on deck."

Kid, after being equally flabbergasted at being caught unawares like that, had re-sheathed her dagger and was now staring at him with one eyebrow raised, arms crossed, tapping her foot in her trademark manner. "Really, mate? I mean, I'm sure th' view's nice an' all, but don'tcha think we've got better things t' do than watch th' waves go by?"

Serge smiled even more broadly, eyes twinkling with a mad, excited gleam that only seemed to get brighter as he looked at his father. "We sure do. See, you might remember there's a lot of space up there, that's where we fought Captain Fargo and Polly. I thought we could get some training in before we reach Death's Door."

He hooked his thumbs proudly in his vest, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Dad...how'd you like to see what kind of moves we can come up with when we combine our powers?"

Kid was looking back and forth between them, muttering about 'bloody brilliant ideas' and why she hadn't thought of them...but the demi-human was smiling now too, wider, more genuinely, and with more wicked anticipation than he had in a very long time. _You truly are a chip off the old block, my boy..._

* * *

Lynx turned and gazed at Serge, the son from whom he'd been separated for ten long years, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. It was time to join forces, as they had discussed, trained, and practiced aboard the _S.S. Invincible _before entering the Sea of Eden to assault Chronopolis. Fate, the twisted computer that had once enslaved his will, was now at their mercy…the victim of as many White attacks as they could muster, from multiple castings of Holy Light and Ultra Nova, to Doc's card deck and Starky's gigantic robot, to the eidolons of Garai and the Hydra courtesy of Steena, to the equally phenomenal powers of Pip's Heaven Calls and Serge's Luminaire.

Although looming above them still, she had quite clearly slumped over with the grievous injuries she had suffered throughout the battle, sparks coruscating and arcing beneath the scale-like metallic plates of her armored interface, head tilted awkwardly to one side, one molten eye twitching spasmodically. Now was the moment to deal the killing blow, before her diagnostic programs had a chance to institute repairs.

Beneath the thick covering of his black robes and breastplate, he could feel sweat trickling through his thick feline pelt, and fatigue ached in him despite the generous musculature with which he'd been endowed—without Fate's neural connections to his brain, he no longer had limitless stamina and strength. But he had enough left for this, even after the long fight. He had to. He could not allow her to get away with the terrible atrocities she had committed…he could not allow her to manipulate and control the world. Or worse still, his secret fear…that she might once more impose her will on him, turn him again into her dark, sadistic puppet.

He would sooner die than let that happen. Which was why, even if it drained his life to do so, he would cast this final spell.

The Arni youth met his golden cat eyes, and instead of the fear and uncertainty that had always greeted Lynx before, he saw only trust, vindication, and a certain sly eagerness. He wanted this, too, and was willing to believe in his father, even after all that had been done to him. Serge truly was a wonderful boy…no, a man now. And a good son…one who had believed he could be saved when no one else even cared, when so many only wished revenge, wished to see him dead. It was only right that he stand by Serge now—and unite as a perfect team to change the world for the better.

Reaching out to clasp Serge's hand in his paw, he held the other up in one fist before his muzzle, a familiar gesture given new meaning as he reached deep down within himself, tapped into the magic that was imbued in his very essence, the gravitational fields of the Black Element that were his to command. At the same time he could feel the holiness of Serge's White Element building up within him, a natural _chi_ of divine energy channeled through his spectra swallow, a power normally anathema to him…yet now that their minds and hearts were one, the two did not annihilate each other, nor did they even conflict. Instead light and dark acted as counterpoints, a yin and yang that formed a surprising harmony, a pair of equal and opposite forces in eternal balance…the primal forces of the universe, pushing and pulling at one another to fuel a great wheel of cosmic power, spinning faster and more furiously as it built to a crescendo of destruction—and rebirth.

First came Lynx's own shadowy powers, a quantum singularity that drew in all matter around it, even light, a dark sinkhole into which Fate was drawn with a despairing mechanical cry as chilling as it was satisfying. Spiraling ever downward, the floor panels, the consoles, even the extruding arms that connected her to the Frozen Flame were warped and whirled about, until all became Forever Zero. But then, as there can be beginnings in endings, new life arising from death, the final flatline of destruction suddenly exploded with the white-hot, scintillating, shimmering column of light that burst from Serge whenever he summoned Flying Arrow.

It was as if, in the loss of one universe, the Big Bang had created a whole new one, hurtling stars, planets, comets, and other stellar detritus out to all corners of creation—and, incidentally, shattered them into miniscule pieces, so far-flung and widely separated they could never be rejoined. It was a stunning display of magic and combative skill never before seen in this world, one which could send an enemy hurtling far into the past or the future, manifesting as it did directly on the axis of the dimensions, sliding fluidly in either direction as it banished its target from the timestream forever.

They called it Time's Arrow. And it was more than effective…it was catastrophic in its results, leaving nothing but shattered pieces of metal, wiring, glass, and plastic melted and smoldering on the ruined floor of the chamber.

Gazing down as his chest heaved in weariness but also a justifiable sense of accomplishment, Lynx watched one last twitch in the irising aperture that had once been an eye of the supercomputer. "Nooo! How could you...?" The voice was desperate, distorted, and fading into static. "I... FATE... the Goddess of Fate... was not meant to die..." Yet with that last wail, the light in her eye socket went out, leaving only a defunct heap of scrap metal.

Lynx smiled cruelly down at her, letting go of his son's hand to cross his arms over his broad chest. "You always did have delusions of grandeur. We choose our own fate, now."

Turning away from the wreckage of the machine that had ruled and ruined all their lives, he sighed heavily, looking at each of the other weary combatants. Some seemed stunned they had succeeded in destroying such a powerful entity; others were vindicated, proud they had at last achieved revenge for what had been done to them; still others seemed at a loss what to do now, where they went from here, what this meant, or even if it had been the right thing after all.

The one person he had hoped would be the most relieved, would finally have a chapter of her life closed and be able to move on to better and happier times, was not, however. Standing to one side near Leena and Guile, Kid still had her hand gripped around her dagger hilt until, if it were ungloved, he was certain its knuckles would be white. As she caught him looking at her, the Radical Dreamer flinched briefly, her eyes filled with both awe at what he and his son had accomplished and the same residual hate and fury as before whenever she laid eyes on him.

Then she suddenly wheeled about, gazing up over the computer consoles, mechanical appendages, and extruding arms which penetrated the golden-orange sphere of light radiating from the Frozen Flame. "Kid? What...?"

"Forget it!" she snapped over her shoulder. "Ya served yer purpose...an' now it's time t' do wot I came here t' do!" And before anyone could stop her, she was running forward, leaping nimbly from one futuristic device to another, until she had reached the top of the sphere. There she knelt...and began to reach down inside toward the artifact pulsing and glowing at its center.

Everyone seemed frozen in place, stunned and horrified at what the thief was attempting to do. Even Serge was silent, his swallow hanging at his side, forgotten, as he stared upward in disbelief and betrayal. Lynx clenched his fists, growling deep in the back of his throat. If no one else would do anything...

"Kid, what do you think you're doing?!" he roared, stepping forward. "Haven't you learned anything from what has been done with that accursed object...what it has done to others, what has been done in its name? Mankind was not meant to have the Frozen Flame—no one was! It should have stayed buried on the ocean floor. Don't you remember what I told you, what Fate told me? It is a piece of Lavos! No one should have anything to do with that parasite's destructive power!"

"I don't care!" Kid retorted, and as she turned to look down at him he was stunned to see tears running down her cheeks, smearing the aboriginal face paint. "Don'tcha get it? With th' Flame, I can fix _everythin_', make everythin' right! It can travel through time, 'specially with th' help of th' computers here. I can go back...I can save everybody...Lucca, Guardia, the dragoons, Dario an' Garai, Serge...even you!" This last sounded rather reluctant, a mere afterthought, but there was nonetheless a sincerity in her voice that touched him. "None of that _ever _has t' be—th' world can be a better place, like we were always told it was when we were kids. Instead of th' rotten hand of cards we've been dealt, we'll all get a whole new one!"

The demi-human cursed to himself; he should have realized this would happen. "It doesn't work that way, Kid. Believe me, I wish nothing more than that everything we have suffered could be undone. But the Flame is evil, unstable...it cannot be trusted. Even if it could be, there is always a price. The cost is too high to pay. And we don't need to! Lucca is here, in Chronopolis!"

When they had arrived at the future ruins, he had insisted they push on, enter the depths of the facility and take on their adversary before attempting anything else, arguing that the longer they took to arrive, the more likely Fate would become suspicious. That although his DNA was still hard-wired into the computers, if he were to open the door to Lucca's cell before Serge as the Arbiter opened the way for them, Fate would know he had changed sides, would know they were here and working together, and the element of surprise would be lost. That they could release her sister after everything was over and they were safe. All of these rationalizations were true and valid...but he found himself wishing futilely he had done as Kid asked—then this moment now might not be happening.

Holding out his hand imploringly, he continued to call out desperately. "Just...come down from there, Kid, and I will take you to her. Then we can all leave this ill-begotten place, never look back...and make new, better lives for everyone. Please...!"

"I don't believe ya!" the girl cried, and he felt his heart break at the anguish in her voice. "If she was really here, ya would've let her out as soon as we landed on th' island. An' anyway...wot good does it do, rescuin' her, when everythin' we had, everythin' an' everyone she ever knew, is gone? It's gotta be better t' go back...get back wot we lost...I'd do anythin' t' take us back t' th' beginning. If there's a price...I don't bloody care! I'd rather see everythin' destroyed than have t' live without my dreams..." Something dark and cruel flickered in her eyes, and Lynx knew he heard several of the others—Lady Riddel, the fairy Razzly, Orlha and Greco—gasp in horror.

Before he could say anything else, another voice cut through the tense silence. "_NON! _Arrêt! Ne touchez pas! Do not touch it!" When the demi-human looked up, he knew with an even greater sinking sensation who he would see. There, hovering high above the floor so as to be of a level with Kid, was Harle. Even at this distance he could see the strain on her face, the tautness of her throat, and the way her makeup, too, had been smeared. She reached out toward the thief as well.

"Kid! I know ze feelingz you have inside you...ze urge to bring everyt'ing to not'ing iz now stronger zan your dezire to save everyone. You may want to t'row yourself down ze cliff of destruction... Zat iz your impératif. But s'il vous plaît, Kid...do not drag Serge and ze odderz down into destruction wit' you!"

As he had suspected and worried would be the case, the appearance of the harlequin had undone any small bit of headway he'd made, galvanized Kid in her actions and set her against them. "Shut up, ya looney! I know wot I'm doin'!" She rose to her feet, glaring at the hovering jester. "It's too late! There's no turnin' back now!" With her decisive, vicious words, a ray of blazing energy suddenly shot out of the heart of the Frozen Flame, striking Harle's diminutive form and sending her flying—hitting the steel floor below with an audible thud.

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

From the doorway into the bedchamber of Hermit's Hideaway where he leaned restlessly against the wooden frame, Lynx watched with deep concern, distress, and self-loathing as Kid continued to sleep on. As she had ever since they'd brought her here from the Sea of Eden, as she had ever since Serge had vanished with the aid of the Mastermune, the blonde girl remained trapped in the past and in her own mind, oblivious to the world around her thanks to the final blast she'd received from the Dragon God...when the six deities, and Harle, had revealed their true allegiance and intentions.

He sighed mournfully. Although he hadn't known her true nature until now, like the harlequin he had hoped it would not come to this. He had known the truth of the Dragon Gods thanks to Fate's files. But he had been certain that once she was removed from the picture (and thus there were no longer any direct antagonists in the lives of Serge or the others, no further danger of himself being corrupted back into evil, and nothing to keep them from returning home now that revenge had been reached), and Lucca was rescued, all would be well. Everyone could begin rebuilding their lives, the Dragon Gods would have no impetus to reunite, and the Flame could be placed in the shrine in Guldove, given to the Prophet, cast into the sea, or otherwise kept from falling into the hands of Porre or anyone else. Kid attempting to claim it for herself, even with mostly good intentions, had changed everything. Now Terra Tower had been released and the Dragon God had to be kept from destroying humanity.

But if Serge could not save Kid from herself, he didn't know if his son would be willing to help...

Even as his thoughts were sinking into such maudlin, bleak depths, two things happened at once—with a flare of blue-white light, Serge and his companions, Leena and Korcha, reappeared in the sunken room, and the thief's quiescent form suddenly stirred on the bed, starting to sit up. Dropping his enchanted weapon, the Arni youth at once rushed to her side and fell to one knee, embracing her tightly. Lynx exchanged a glance with the Radius of this world, then let out the breath he'd been holding. Once again, Serge had done what no other could do. Whatever else could be said about it, the Flame had chosen rightly in making him its Arbiter; with all of them behind him, maybe he really did have a chance at saving everyone, saving both worlds and time itself.

The shack was so quiet that even with her face pressed against Serge's shoulder in a surprisingly vulnerable moment, he could hear Kid's whispered words. "Ya kept yer word, mate. Ya came back fer me...an' ya really didn't leave me alone. Even if it took ya ten years or so t' do it..."

"I'll always come for you," he heard Serge say with his heart in his throat, and Lynx smiled to himself.

He didn't know how close the two had become...if they were lovers, if they would one day wed, or if they were just close companions with a bond forged by all they had been through together, connected across time and space even if he might still end up with Leena. But he knew that despite all the dangers that had beset them, her impetuousness and his need to always save her, they had been good for each other. If it hadn't been for the dreams of her stabbing which Serge had confided in him on the way back from the Pearly Gates, he might never have been led to Fort Dragonia...there might not have been a body switch or a way to restore Wazuki's memories and self. In which case he owed Kid, too.

When the two teenagers had separated and Kid had rather fiercely rubbed away her tears, with a glare to everyone that dared them to mention it so she could make their arses kiss the moons, he finally thought it safe to step forward. "Kid...I'm glad you're all right. If anything more had happened to you...after all the suffering you've had in your young life..." He bit his lip.

For a moment her eyes went flat and hard, her brows furrowing and face darkening. But then her expression cleared and she sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck. "Yeah, well...thanks. I know ya tried t' stop me an' all...save me from makin' a piss-poor mistake. Now we're all in even more hot water, an' I've got no one t' blame but meself. So...I'm sorry."

He couldn't deny she was right, but there was no need to rub it in. Especially not when he had at least one way of finally doing right by her. "It's all right. I understand now. You really would do whatever you had to, to get back your Sis and make the world a better place?"

"Of course." The words popped out unbidden, along with a derisive snort. "Wouldn't you?"

She had no idea how accurate her words were—or maybe she did. But what that single-minded, tunnel-visioned attitude had led to, what his extremism had enabled Fate to do to him, was even worse than the threat they now faced due to Kid's thoughtless act. He understood...but he also knew that both of them needed to learn when enough was enough...when to back down, to seek a more oblique and finessed means of achieving their ends.

_What do you live for? _he had once asked Serge. _What are you willing to die for? _The same questions had come in other forms from the Prophet, from Harle, from Korcha of all people. The truth was, he would live for his son. He would die for him. But what was important was the manner of it...he had lost himself, died to himself and his family, thanks to his tenacious and unrelenting quest that had cut out everything else which made life worth living—ironically, in the end, even Serge himself. Now if he lived and died for Serge, it would be in the right way, as his own man, defending him, teaching his son...and himself...about honor, courage, and fortitude.

And there was one significant way he could begin that process now, a way that would help Kid do the same, give her a reason to live and hope rather than just fight and die. A way made possible by him having lingered at Chronopolis just long enough for one last task.

"Yes, I would," he answered the thief at last, even as he was turning toward the ladder that led up to the surface of the island. "Which is why I kept my promise, and did it on your behalf." Reaching the pool of sunlight that shone down through the opening, he held up a paw and let a simple Fireball shoot up out of the tree to hover harmlessly above the Hideaway, their prearranged signal.

For several long moments there was silence in the hidden bunker, and just when he heard Serge start to inquire, only to be hushed by Kid, then the footsteps of the latter start approaching behind him, the sound of someone descending the ladder became apparent. Even though she'd been kept prisoner for five years now, she seemed as spry and agile as ever, her own phenomenal determination or perhaps just her need to be active and see Kid again keeping her going. And when she reached the bottom, brushed the back of her hand against her brow to push her purple hair back into place, and turned around to face them, despite a certain wanness in her complexion and a gauntness to her features, she looked as bright and strong-willed as ever.

"Whoo boy, am I out of shape...can't go running around saving the world any more, like I could when I was your age!" Clad in an extra outfit of Orlha's and a lab coat from Luccia, Lucca Ashtear smiled lopsidedly, adjusted her glasses (she'd had a spare set with her when she was kidnapped), and opened her arms. "So...you ready for that cup of tea, Kid?"

The girl in question stared at her, unblinking and unmoving, either so stunned she couldn't react or afraid that if she said or did anything this taunting illusion before her would vanish. But when her Sis didn't disappear back into her memories, Kid managed to turn and look at Lynx, stricken. "This...this doesn't make up fer my pain...or all the years without her...but...thank you. Thank you so much." And with tears running down her cheeks, she flung herself into Lucca's arms.

As the two hugged tightly and the scientist ran her hands through Kid's hair, exclaiming at her braids and remarking with scandalized gasps at her revealing clothes, the demi-human exchanged an emotional smile with his son. Korcha, who had bristled when Lynx even looked at Kid, let alone spoke to her or moved toward her, had backed down (grudgingly) and was leaning against the wall with a disgruntled approval, and Leena, a mixed expression of jealousy and sympathy on her face, was smiling with happy tears of her own on her cheeks. Even Radius set an aged hand on his shoulder. "It seems I was wrong about you. Perhaps you can prove you aren't that dark beast any more...Wazuki."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe he could.


	4. Chapter 4

With a last flare of light, the purple wormhole which had led to the Darkness Beyond Time winked out, and once again Lynx found himself standing on Opassa Beach, his journey having come full circle just as his son's had. He didn't think he could ever see the place the same way again, not after what Fate had made him do here, nor what had happened to Serge here that day fourteen years ago, but still...somehow, it was comforting. As if no matter what else changed in his life, some things would remain the same. That one of them was this beautiful, pristine, secluded shoreline only seemed good and right.

Sighing slowly, he tried not to be conscious of the hot tropical sun beating down on him, the combination of his muscular, furred body and the heavy armor and robes he wore making him increasingly sweaty and overheated. Hoping none of the others, or at least none of the humans, were aware of his muskiness, he watched the various groups and gatherings forming in the sands, by the coral formations, beneath the shade of the palm trees. The Devas, Riddel and her father, and the knight Glenn stood in one close-knit circle, either congratulating each other for the victory they had won (however much it had been the Chrono Cross, not weapons and battle prowess, that had been the key) or drawing strength from each other after all that had occurred.

The rock star Nikki and his red-clad dancer stood with the mermaid Irenes, most likely discussing the continued restoration of Marbule. Korcha seemed to be suffering from a firm scolding by his mother; Fargo was making up with the crotchety old magician Sneff; Doc was earnestly holding hands with Orlha; Leena stood with Radius, ready to return to Arni, just as Greco, Van, and Zappa were bound for Termina (he had it on good authority the painter's son would be coming home with more than enough money to pay off his heartless landlady, a gift the pirate captain had pressed upon him once he'd heard the boy's story); Luccia had her eyes downcast as she spoke softly with Grobyc and Norris before their return to Porre, while Pip floated serenely beside her, wings flapping in the offshore breeze; Serge, Kid and Lucca had formed a triple hug while Guile looked on approvingly...

The soft sound of bare feet pressing into the sand came from beside him, and when he turned he was shocked to see Princess Schala standing there, still clad in diaphanous white, the tattered remnants of what had once been a royal gown of Zeal. As he'd done since first setting eyes on her, he had to do a double-take at how identical she was to Kid—despite being a good ten years older (chronologically, not in years spent bound with Lavos), she retained a sweet youthfulness that made her look even more like her daughter-clone, with the only thing attesting to her true age being the rather haggard appearance she bore from her captivity, a hollowness to her cheeks and lines deeply creasing her brows.

She smiled at him gently. "Feeling left out as well?" Her voice was quiet, musical, as unlike Kid's as her expression of kindness and pity when she gazed at him contrasted sharply with the resentment and distrust the thief still couldn't help showing when she looked at her old nemesis; the effect was truly disconcerting.

"Of course," he rumbled just as softly. "I don't belong here any more...not after all I have done, and has been done to me. And neither do you, if I may say so, your Highness."

Schala half-turned to gaze out across the sea, the look on her face indescribable—distant and sorrowful, guilty and perplexed, uncertain and lost. "Your Highness...it has been so long since anyone called me that...since anyone has spoken to me at all...I had almost forgotten I was once a princess. Not that it matters now...Zeal is long gone beneath the waves, and good riddance to it." There was a bitter fierceness as she said this which surprised him...and yet, as he thought of the legends of the floating kingdom, of what it had become through arrogance and elitism, what had been done to her and what she had been forced to do, he wasn't surprised at all.

Doffing his hat in respect—it wasn't every day you met a great sorceress who was also the reason that past and future had collided and been shifted forever, that worlds had literally been split, turned upside-down, changed irrevocably in order that she might be saved—Lynx smiled and shook his head. "Once a princess, always a princess. Your kingdom may be lost, but you have been found. All thanks to Balthasar...and my son."

Even now, after having it all explained to him, his mind boggled at the truth, the many layers of convoluted scheming and plotting which had led to this denouement...which if a single thing more had gone wrong, if Serge had been a different person, if events had not fallen out exactly as they had, would have been completely impossible...it all had him torn between fury at being so fully and undeniably manipulated, and admiration at the intellect and determination it had taken.

"True. But my point still stands...I no longer have a home or a family to go back to—" For a moment her gaze flickered to the hovering form of the masked magician, so quickly he wasn't even sure he'd seen it. "—and while I am grateful to you all for what you have done for me and for the world, I find myself at a crossroads...and without any idea which path to take from here." Finally she turned back to look at him again, and his heart ached at the undeniable empathy which burned in her eyes, almost making them seem to glow—ached with unexpressed agony, for he knew he did not deserve anyone's caring or forgiveness, least of all hers, and never would. "But I do not need my magic to know the same thing can be said of you."

Lynx blinked away tears. "I have done too much...seen too much...changed too much. Even if I were fully myself again, no one would ever trust me. I would never fit in back in Arni."

"Don't you think you are doing your wife a disservice, Wazuki? And I notice you do not even seem to be considering what your son might want...how he will feel if, after finally having you back, in any form, you choose to desert him again." Although her voice was as caring and concerned as ever, the reprimand was quite clear in it, as well as a core of iron she had passed on to Kid...that had sustained her all these countless centuries, kept her from succumbing fully to the path of hatred and destruction.

He winced and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Touché. I...forgive me, I just don't know how to handle this. I don't know how any of us can." He looked up at her hopefully. "Unless...unless you could give me back my old—?"

Now it was Schala's turn to hang her head in regret. "No. I am so sorry, more than I can say, but when she changed you, when she blended your body with that of the panther demon, Fate transformed you right down to your very cells...she overrode the pattern of who and what you are, and it was lost. If anything at all of it was left, it would have been stored in her databanks. And since you all destroyed her..." She trailed off. "Magic cannot solve everything. My mother refused to see that, and it led to her demise. It took me until now to accept it."

As if her words had summoned it to prove her wrong, he noticed how her locks of blonde hair which stirred and swirled in the breeze were beginning to shine, shimmering with an inner light that was gradually changing their hue to a luminescent, ever more otherworldly blue. Apparently the hair color of the royal line of Zeal which legend had spoken of was magical in origin—most likely drawn from the power of Lavos the queen and her court had been saturated in, leached away while she was joined with the Time Devourer that had given it birth, returning now that she was free.

But he knew however he wished otherwise that she was right. And even if the memory banks in Chronopolis had not been damaged or wiped, why would Fate have retained any link back to whom he had once been? Clearly she had never intended to use his identity to try and sway Serge to her cause, and it would have served her far better—and more logically—to remove all traces of Wazuki so that there was no chance of him ever returning, so that Serge's hopes would be dashed should he ever learn the truth. Yes, that sort of cruelty would fit the cold, calculating nature of the supercomputer best. Whether she had missed something in this feline body, or the magic of the Dragonians had managed to dredge up some semblance of his memories and self or even recreate it, the fact was the rest of him was gone, and the sooner he accepted that the better off he'd be.

Thinking hard, fighting against the sense of despair and listlessness growing within—at least he was alive, had a chance to do right again, could be with his son!—Lynx considered carefully in light of the princess's words, then said at last, "What's done is done. In that case...I suppose I shall return to Arni with Serge, hope that I can fit back into his life, the lives of everyone there. If not, I imagine the demi-humans of Marbule would accept me." He paused, then smiled lopsidedly. "Either way, I think I'll need a change in clothing."

Schala laughed, and he had to admit his heart soared at the sound, not so much for its sweetness as because he knew it had been so very long since she had been able to, since she'd had a reason to. "Indeed. You do seem rather overdressed for the climate. But if you will allow it...there is something else you can change, which I can help you with." At his inquisitive look, she added, "I can...ease your pain, by altering your memories."

Jerking his head around, he stared at her in disbelief—part of him appalled at the notion, the rest yearning for it with all his being. "Wh-what? How? Why?"

The sorceress smiled sadly. "I have not lost all my power, and much is returning to me—slowly—as I recover from Lavos's touch. I also have the Time Egg, Kid's amulet, the Cross, and my position from having been beyond time...able to see and influence all of reality. Such power, thankfully, will not last. But while I have it..."

Lynx took a deep breath. "Why would you do this?" he repeated. "After all I have done—"

"All that was done _to_ you," Schala qualified softly.

"—the fact I helped bring down Fate and the Dragon Gods, and freed you, does not make up for those sins," he continued insistently. "And wouldn't removing the memories of what I did be robbing me of the strength and growth I gained from them? Make it possible I could do such things again, because I hadn't learned from them?"

She shook her head. "That was not what I said, Wazuki. I said I would _alter_ them, not remove them. Like Serge, you would still know of your journeys and quests, you would remember what happened and your parts in it...both for good and for ill. What I am offering is for you to forget the experience of them. You would know they occurred, you would recall why they happened and what they taught you, but living through them...it would recede into the deepest parts of your memories. You would no longer need suffer the torment they bring, whether waking or in nightmares." Schala looked sadder than ever, yet she also lifted her chin bravely. "Greatly do I wish I could do the same for my own mind, but my magic cannot affect myself, not on so fundamental a level."

For several long minutes the demi-human remained frozen on the beach, refusing to meet her sympathetic eyes, avoiding looking at anyone else but especially Serge, not even staring out at the horizon as the princess had been doing. Only looking at nothing, gazing into himself. It was a struggle; he was still frightened that losing even that small a part of what he had gone through the past fourteen years would change him, and not for the better...that it would guarantee his character would regress, that he would be in danger of once more being corrupted by envy, greed, hate, despair, by the simple fallibility and flaws of the human condition. At the very least, that he would not be a better, wiser person. But on the other side of the coin, how could he build a life with Serge and his wife again...build a life at all...if he could not move on and begin again, because these terrible memories refused to be buried, continued to cast their shadow over everything he was and did?

Clenching his fists and then forcing them to relax, Lynx at last turned back to her. He knew there was desperation in his golden cat eyes, but also hope. "I...I am sorry, your Highness. But this is too important, and too difficult, for me to choose. Could you by your grace do it for me?"

Zeal's last sovereign looked at him with gentle understanding and nodded, reaching out one small hand to rest it against his furry cheek. In spite of himself he leaned into her touch, his own massive paw completely engulfing her hand as he began to purr; would he ever get used to this? He supposed he would have to. "Very well. Turn about and walk from this place then, Wazuki of Arni, follow the path through Lizard Rock toward your home, and do not look back. When you arrive there, you will discover in your mind what I have chosen for you.

"Farewell...and although you think you did little to aid me or your son, that your crimes far outweigh your good deeds, you have my utmost gratitude regardless. What happened was terrible, yes...but good came of it in the end. If you had not fallen, the world would still be under the constant threat of war between Fate and the Dragon Gods...the Flame might have eventually fallen into the wrong hands...and Serge would not have had the opportunity to forge the Cross and free me." She let go of his hand and stepped back, pulling the Time Egg from a pocket of her dress as she clasped the Astral Amulet hanging around her neck with the other hand.

He stared at her, stunned, for several more long moments as he took in her words...considered them, studied them, judged their value and truth, and realized that perhaps she was correct and he had not seen the full ramifications of his actions. Then, with much more hope and confidence than he had ever thought he'd feel again, Lynx nodded and turned. He raised a paw in parting to the others; noticed that while most ignored him or remained uncomfortable and uncertain, hands lifted in acknowledgment here and there, faces turned toward him with acceptance and forgiveness...Norris, Steena, Lady Riddel...even Kid did not look at him with the same hatred she once had, her arm around Lucca as if she would never let her go again.

"I'll see you back in Arni...son," he called. Serge nodded, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat.

Slowly at first, then more rapidly, the robed demi-human strode along a pathway so familiar and yet at the same time so alien, the sand crunching beneath his boots turning to grassy soil, then rock as he passed from the palm-strewn coral and entered the outskirts of Lizard Rock. The world began to shimmer and waver around him—whether due to the dimensions coming together as one once more, or Schala's specific magic for him—but he kept walking, staring ahead for his first sight of Arni again, and did not look back.

* * *

Behind him, Schala watched wistfully, lowering her talismans as the azure halo of her magic faded out...observing as Lynx paused briefly in his trek, his muscles locking in place as the change washed over him, and then after a long, contemplative moment resuming his forward motion. He passed over the hill, around a bend in the path until he was lost from view behind the outcroppings of rock, and she sighed.

"He will forget," she whispered. "It is far better that way. Now at last, he can have back the life he was meant to live, even if it is far different from what it would otherwise have been. If only my choice were as simple, or so readily passed to another. But then again...perhaps that is the problem. All my life I have lived for others, let them decide for me what I should be and do. My mother, my brother, the people of Zeal...perhaps now, if I finally begin living and choosing for myself, that will be all I need to explore a whole new vista of the future before me..."

Heartened, feeling oddly light and free for the first time in her life, the princess turned back to the others, gesturing for them to gather close as she once more raised the magical items she held and prepared to cast her most powerful spells.

_You were treated like a pawn for so long...but you are not. May you find peace in Zurvan, my friend. _

* * *

His name was Wazuki. He knew that now, and even if his body was that of a feline demi-human and always would be, he knew who he was and where he belonged. What he would do with his life was less clear...although he knew he would do everything in his power to make the world a better place, and that he would be there for his family. Assuming he was accepted by...everyone. Perhaps he could even be a bridge between humans and demi-humans, now that Marbule had been restored.

Looking up as he passed through the flower-woven archway that led into Arni Village, he sighed contentedly. The sun beat down on his bare head, heating up his scalp beneath grayish-brown fur and chestnut hair, so that sweat begin to trickle and flow down to be caught in his familiar crimson headband. He had foregone the black shirt he always wore, donning only the white vest which had gone over it, leaving his muscular chest bare—not to show off, but to further aid in keeping him ventilated in the tropical heat. Dark green pants clad his legs, but he no longer wore anything covering his paws—he didn't want anything left to remind him of Lynx, not even the specially-fitted boots, and his old shoes would not fit digitigrade feet.

He still carried his old swallow strapped to his back; Serge had insisted he have it back, now that the spirits of the Masamune had left it (Lucca was taking the purified blade back to Guardia, naturally), since he had a spectra swallow of his own.

Unsurprisingly, no one in the village recognized him, trusted him, or even wanted him around; when people didn't scream, yell, or tell him to get out of town because no one liked his kind here, they mocked him for his species, saying it was a good thing he had nine lives so he could survive whatever punishment they would dish out or calling him a stray cat they refused to feed. Even the children weren't exempt—one was afraid he'd be clawed to death, a second insisted he must like catnip because all cats did; only the third was a positive response, calling him a "cute kitty", but even that was rather demeaning.

But in the end it didn't matter how many of them called him a monster; they had gotten used to Serge in his body being around, if only with ill grace, they could do so again. What mattered was one person's reaction...

Striding across the village commons, he paused at the top of the steps leading into what had once been his old home...and hopefully would be again. Opening the door, he stepped into the homey, cluttered room that was burned into his memories with fondness and abiding love—other than the specific flower arrangements in the vases, a few knickknacks moved about, and what particular cooking smells emanated from the kitchen, it hardly seemed to have changed at all; even his old fishing lures and poles were still hung where he'd last left them! Before he could take another step, though, the sound of his entrance and of his weight on the creaking floorboards must have announced him, for a figure appeared from the far doorway.

She stopped dead, staring at him in shock, her face gone very pale. Not because a strange demi-human had walked uninvited into her home, she believed him to be the feared and notorious Lynx, nor even because she thought Serge had somehow been transformed back again—he could see in her eyes that she knew him. By the way he walked and stood, by some sixth sense, or simply by seeing and feeling the soul that resided in his golden orbs. She knew him and stared at him, unbelieving, while he stared right back...drinking in her every feature, the love he had forgotten and discarded when under Fate's control now flooding fully back, stronger and more powerful than ever. How...how could he have ever left her? He truly must have been mad.

He stood, waited, and watched...gazing at her in case this was the last time he would ever see her in life before she ordered him out, before she too called him a beast and said he was not her husband, did not belong in Arni and never would...but also held his breath and hoped this would not be the case.

"It's you, isn't it?" Marge breathed at last. "You're not Serge this time. You're..."

"Yes," he replied softly, warmly, his voice a purring rumble that soothed rather than terrified; although he was certain anyone who was not a demi-human would not be able to tell the difference, would cringe from him in fear. Except she didn't. "It's me. I'm home. I'm finally home."

When she did not make a move, either to gesture him to a chair or to throw him down the steps, he came toward her...very slowly, one step at a time. Only when he stood less than a pace from her did he stop again, and the whole time he'd been moving he had never flinched, never torn his riveted gaze from hers. Even ten years older, her face more lined with sorrow, loss, and quiet suffering, she was still beautiful, still the woman he'd made a Komodo scale necklace for. If she would still have him.

"Wazuki...I..." Her throat fluttered; one hand rose to distractedly check her kerchief to make certain it had not come undone from her hair, while the other quickly went to her mouth, fingers pressed to her lips in wonder and anguished disbelief. Justifiably so...but this was better than he had hoped for.

Reaching out with one large paw, he waited until she had dropped the hand from her hair, then nerved himself and took it. She did not tear away; she didn't cry out in disgust or revulsion, in fact she didn't seem to mind the touch at all. She gripped him back, tightly, pressing her fingers into the soft pads that covered his palm and fingertips. He made sure his claws stayed sheathed. For a moment her image wavered before him as tears shimmered in his eyes; when he had blinked them away, he saw her eyes, too, were wet.

He had no idea how much Serge had told her; on the one hand, at the time they had been caught up in plotting Fate's downfall, when they weren't tying up loose ends like the fate of Dario, and there hadn't really been a quick way to explain the truth. Wazuki had wanted to stay away from her until their journey was concluded, when such emotional baggage could be dealt with without endangering the fate of the world...when he was simply strong enough in heart and soul to face Marge's likely response. And if he had died in one of the upcoming battles, it would be better not to have gotten her hopes up, hurt her all over again.

On the other hand, the woman had been owed as much as could be spared, and after how terrified she had been over Serge's disappearance from Opassa Beach...the same shore where he had nearly drowned in this world...then confronted with her son returned in the body of a hulking, dusky demi-human, he had most likely told her at least the bare bones.

"Shh," he said at last, squeezing her hand gently but with strength. "I know everything must be very confusing for you...it is for me as well..."

Marge managed a wry quirking of her mouth. "No, there's nothing at all confusing about my now being married to a six-foot-four panther. Why should I be confused?"

Wazuki laughed at her familiar dry wit even as his heart thudded in his chest; she'd said it, she'd claimed him as her husband still, after all this time, after his abandonment, how much he had changed, not even being the same species... "Did...did Serge tell you...?"

"Some of it. Enough to explain where he was going, what he was doing. You should be very proud of our boy."

"I am." _More than you can ever know, my love. _

"But he didn't tell me all...and I want to hear it from your own mouth, in your own words." Still holding his paw, she stepped sideways to her customary chair at the kitchen table, sitting down so that their joined hands rested on the expanse of wood between them. An undertone of firm strength filled her voice. "Please...explain to me exactly what has been going on here..."

The man who had once been known as Lynx, who if he had anything to say about it would be wiping our prejudice against the demi-humans in Arni and usher in a new era of peace in El Nido—perhaps they could renew their vows with the Sage of Marbule, and see about establishing trade relations with the restored island?—sat down as well. And as he held onto that smaller hand as if it were his lifeline to sanity, he began to tell her: of destiny, of choice, of time travel and the future, of a lost princess, and of how he had lost everything dear to him, everything that made him who he was—which he would now get back, how ever long it took.

Because like everyone else whose lives had been changed, in spite of everything, his dreams too were not over yet.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is obviously an AU what-if story. Also the title is not merely a reference to one of the tracks from the OST, and a wonderful remix from OCR (both actually relevant here!), but it also describes the story itself: a series of pieces, vignettes displaying various moments of the game from a different perspective, namely showing what certain scenes might have been like had a particular character been able to still be a party member at that point, and then following through on the ramifications and consequences of that character being part of the story, and finally ending with what his fate might be. Hence why it feels a bit disjointed; you can assume any scenes from the game not shown occurred exactly as they did originally, merely with this additional character there as a witness or participant. I wasn't particularly interested in rewriting the whole game, as that's a monumental task and one various other writers have attempted. Never finished, but at the same time the portions they did finish are better than anything I could come up with at the moment. So instead...you receive these character-driven fragments. I hope they will be as meaningful for you as they were for me as I wrote them!


End file.
